Heart of a Vampire
by StupiedShinyVolvoOwner
Summary: Looking for her missing brother, Bella Swan never dreamed she would discover a secret world filled by mythological being's-or find herself facing a sword-wielding being whose looks put mortal's to shame. She's stolen the heart of Atlantis fiercest Vampie
1. Prolouge

Roses are red,

Violets are blue.

I don't own Twilight nor Heart of a Dragon,

So please don't sue.

_**Atlantis**_

"Do you feel it, boy? Do you feel the mist preparing?"

Edward en Cullen squeezed his eyes tightly closed, his tutor's words echoing in his mind. Did he feel it? Gods, yes. Even though he was only 8 years old, he felt it. Felt his skin prickle with cold, felt the sickening wave of acid in his throat as the mist enveloped him. He even felt his veins quicken with a deceptively sweet, swirling essence that was not his own.

Fighting the urge to bolt up the cavern steps and into the palace above, he tensed his muscles and fisted his hands at his sides.

_I must stay. I must do this._

Slowly Edward forced his eyelids to open. He released a pent-up breath as his gaze locked with Javar's. His tutor stood shrouded by the thickening, ghostlike haze, the bleak walls of the cave at his back.

"This is what you will feel each time the mist summons you, for this means a traveler is nearby," Javar said. "Never stray far from this place. You may live above with the others, but you must always return here when called."

"I do not like it here." His voice shook. "The cold weakens me."

"Other vampires are weakened by cold, but not you. Not any longer. The mist will become a part of you, the coldness your most beloved companion. Now listen," he commanded softly. "Listen closely."

At first Edward heard nothing. Then he began to register the sound of a low, tapering whistle-a sound that reverberated in his ears like the moans of the dying. _Wind, _he assured himself_. Merely wind. _The turbulent breeze rounded every corner of the doomed enclosure drawing closer. Closer still. His nostrils filled with the scent of desperation, destruction, and loneliness as he braced himself for impact.

When it finally came upon him, it was not the battering force he expected, but a mockingly gentle caress against his body. The jeweled medallion at his neck hummed to life, burning the fang tattoo etched into his flesh only that morning.

Hr crushed his lips together to silence a deep groan of uncertainty.

His tutor sucked in a reverent breath and splayed his arms wide. "This is what you will live for, boy. This will be your purpose. You will kill for this."

"I do not want my purpose to stem from the deaths of others," Darius said, the words tumbling from his mouth unbidden.

Javar stilled, a fiery anger kindling in the depths of his forest green eyes, eyes so unlike Edward's own-unlike every vampire's. All vampires in the palace but Javar possessed golden eyes, "You are to be Guardian of the Mist, a king to the warriors here," Javar said. "You should be grateful I chose you among all the others for this task."

Edward swallowed. Grateful? Yes, he should have been grateful. Instead he felt oddly … lost. Alone. So alone and unsure. Was this what he truly wanted? Was this the life he craved for himself? His gaze skimmed his surroundings. A few broken chairs were scattered across the dirt and twig-laden ground. The walls were black and bare, There was not warmth, only cold, biting reality and the lingering shadow of hopelessness. To become Guardian meant pledging his existence, his very soul to this cave.

Gaze narrowed, Javar closed the distance between them, his boots harmonizing with the drip, drip of water. His lips pulled in a tight scowl, and he gripped Edward's shoulders painfully. "Your mother and father were slaughtered. Your sisters were raped and their throats slit. Had the last Guardian done his duty, your family would still be with you."

Pain cut through Edward so intensely he nearly clawed out his eyes to blacken the hated images hovering before them. His graceful mother twisted and bent, lying in a crimson river of her own venom. The bones –deep gashes in his father's back. His three sisters … His chin trembled, and he blinked away the stinging tears in his eyes. He would not cry. Not now. Not ever.

Mere days ago, he had returned from hunting and found his family dead. He had not cried then. Nor had he shed a tear when the invaders plundered his family were slaughtered in retribution. To cry was to show weakness. He squared his shoulders and raised his chin.

"That's right," Javar said, watching him with a glint of pride. "Deny your tears and keep the hurt inside you., Use it against those who hope to enter our land. Kill them with it, for they only mean us harm."

"I want to do as you say. I do." He glanced away. "But-"

"Killing travelers is your obligation," Javar interrupted. "Killing them is your privilege."

"What of innocent women and children who mistakenly stumble through?" The thought of destroying such purity, like that of his sisters, made him loathe the monster Javar was asking him to become-though not enough to halt this course he had set for himself. To protect his friends, he would do whatever was asked of him. "May I set them free on the surface?"

"You may not."

"What harm can children do our people?"

"They will carry the knowledge of the mist with them, ever able to lead and army thought." Javar shook him once, twice. "Do you understand now? Do you understand what you must do and why you must do it?"

"Yes," he replied softly. He stared down at a thin, cerulean rivulet that trickled past his boots, his gaze following the gentleness and serenity of the water. Oh that he possessed the same serenity inside himself. "I understand."

"You are too tender, boy." With a sigh, Javar released him. "If you do not erect stronger defenses inside yourself, your emotions will be the death of you and all those you still hold dear."

Edward gulped back the hard lump in his throat. "Then help me, Javar. Help me rid myself of my emotions so that I might do these deeds."

"As I told you before, you have only to bury your pain deep inside you, somewhere no one can ever hope it reach it-not even yourself."

That sounded so easy. Yet, how did one bury such tormenting grief? Such devastating memories? How did one battle the horrendous agony? He would do anything at all, to find peace.

"How?" he asked his tutor.

"You will discover that answer on your own."

Magic and power began swirling more intently around them, undulating, begging for some type of release. The air expanded, coagulated, leaving a heady fragrance of darkness and danger. A surge of energy ricocheted across the walls like a lightning bolt, then erupted in a colorful array of liquid sparks.

Edward stilled as horror, dread and yes, anticipation sliced a path through him.

"A traveler will enter soon," Javar said, already tense and eager.

With shaky fingers, Edward gripped the hilt of his sword.

"They always experience disorientation at first emergence. You must use that to your advantage and destroy them the moment they exit."

"I'm not ready. I cannot-"

"You are and you will," Javar said, a steely edge to his tone. "There are two portals, the one you are to guard here and the one I guard on the other side of the city. I am not asking you to do anything I would not-and have not done-myself."

In the next instant, a tall man stepped from the mists. Hid eyes were squeezed shut, his face pale, and his clothing disheveled. Hid hair was thick and silvered, and his tanned skin was lined with deep wrinkles. He had the look of a scholar, not of war or evil.

Still trembling, Edward unsheathed his weapon. He almost doubled over from the sheer force of his conflicting emotions. A part of him continued to scream to run away, to refuse this task, but he forced himself to remain. He would do this because Javar was right. Travelers were the enemy, no matter who they were, not matter what purpose.

No matter their appearance.

"Do it, Edward," Javar growled. "Do it now."

The traveler's gaze jolted open. Their eyes suddenly clashed together, vampire gold against human blue. Resolve against fear. Life against death.

Edward raised his blade, paused only a moment-then struck. Blood splattered his bare chest and forearms like poisoned rain. A gargled hasp parted the man's lips, then slowly, so slowly, his lifeless body sank to the ground.

For several long, agonizing moments, Edward stood frozen by the fruit of his actions. _What have I done? What have I done! _He dropped the sword, distantly hearing a clang as the metal thudded into the dirt.

He hunched over and vomited.

Surprisingly, as he emptied his stomach, he lost the agony inside him. He lost his regret and sadness. Frigid ice enclosed his chest and what was left of his soul. He welcomed and embraced the numbness until he felt only a strange void. All of his heartache-gone. All of his suffering-gone.

_I have done my duty._

"I am proud of you, boy." Javar slapped his shoulder in a rare show of affection. "You are ready to take your vows as guardian."

Ad Edward's shaking ceased, he straightened and wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist. "Yes," he said starkly, determinedly, craving more of this detachment. "I am ready."

"Do it, then."

Without pausing for thought he sank to his knees.

"In this place I will dwell, destroying the surface dwellers who pass through the mist. This I vow upon my life. This I vow upon my death." As he spoke the words, they mystically appeared on his chest and back, black and red symbols that stretched from one shoulder to the other and glowed with inner fire. "I exist for no other purpose. I am Guardian of the Mist."

Javar held his stare for a long whole, then nodded with satisfaction. "Your eyes have changed color to mirror the mist. The two of you are one. This is good, boy. This is good."

His eyes were Green.

**SO there you have it. The prologue for Heart of a Vampire. Id just like to mention once again. I do not own Twilight nor Heart of a Dragon. I am just simply converting the two stories into one seeing as they seem like perfect matches. Any comments or concerns just let me know ..**


	2. Chapter 1

Roses are red,

Violets are blue.

I don't own twilight nor Heart of a Dragon,

So please don't sue.

_Three hundred years later_

"HE DOSEN'T LAUGH."

"He never yells."

"When Grayley accidentally stabbed Edward's thigh with a six-pronges razor, our leader didn't even blink."

"I'd say all he needs is a few good hours of bed sport, but I'm not even sure he knows what his cock is for."

The latter was met with a round of rumbling male chuckles.

Edward en Cullen stepped inside the spacious dining hall, his gaze methodically cataloging his surroundings. The ebony floors gleamed clean and black, the perfect contrast for the dragon-carved ivory walls. Along the windows, gauzy drapes whisped delicately. Crystal ceilings toward above, reflecting the tranquility of sea water that enclosed their great city.

He moved toward the long, square dining table. The tantalizing aroma of raw meats and blood should have wafted to his nostrils, but over the years his sense of smell, taste and color had deteriorated. He smelled only ash, tasted nothing more than air, saw only black-and-white.

One warrior caught sight of him and quickly alerted the others. Silence clamped tight fingers around the chamber. Every male present whipped his focus around the food, as if the raw deer had suddenly become the most fascinating thing the gods had ever created. The jovial air visibly darkened.

True to his men's words, Edward claimed his seat at the head of the table without a smile or a scowl. Only after he'd consumed his third goblet of blood did his men resume their conversation, though they wisely chose a different subject. This time the spoke of the women they had pleasured and the wars they had won. Exaggerated tales, all. One warrior even went so far as to claim he gratified four women at the same time while successfully storming his enemy's gate.

Edward had heard the same stories a thousand times before. He swallowed a mouthful of tasteless meat and asked the warrior beside him, "Any news?"

Jasper, his first in command, leveled him a grim smile and shrugged. "Perhaps. Perhaps not." His light hair hung around his face in thick war braids, and he hooked several behind his ears. "The Volturi are acting strangely. They're leaving the Outer City and assembling here in the Inner City."

"They rarely come here. Have they given no indication of why?"

"It cannot be good for us, whatever the reason," Madox said, jumping into the conversation. "I say we kill those that venture too close to our home." He was the tallest vampire in residence and always ready for combat. He perched at the end of the table, his elbows flat on the surface, both hands filled with meat. "We are ten times stronger and more skilled then they are."

"We need the obliterate them," the warrior on his left supplied. Carlisle was the kind of man others wanted to guard their backs in battle. He fought with a determination matched by few, was fiercely loyal and had studied the anatomy of every species in Atlantis so he knew exactly where to strike each to create the most damage. And the most pain.

Years ago, Carlisle and his wife had been captured by the Volturi. He'd been chained to a wall, forced to watch as his wife was raped and drained. When he escaped, he brutally destroyed every creature responsible, but that had not lessened his heartache. He was a different man than he'd been, no longer full of laughter and forgiveness.

"Perhaps we can petition Zeus for their extinction," Jasper replied.

"The gods have long since forgotten us," Carlisle said with a shrug. "Besides, Zeus is like Cronus in so many ways. He might agree, but do we really want him to? We are all creations of the titans, even those we loathe. If Zeus annihilates one group, what is it to stop him from wiping out others?"

Jasper gulped back the last of his blood, his eyes fierce. "Then we will not ask him. We will simply strike."

"The time has come for us to declare war," Madox growled in agreement.

The word "war" elicited smiles across the expanse of the room.

"I agree that the Volturi need to be eliminated. They create chaos and for that alone they deserve to die." Edward met each warrior's stare, one at a time, holding it until the other man looked away. "But there is time for war and a time for strategy. Now is the time for strategy. I will send a patrol into the Inner City and learn the Volturi's purpose. Soon we will know the best course of action."

"But -" one warrior began.

He cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Our ancestors waged the last war with the Volturi, and while we might have won, our losses were too great. Families were torn asunder and venom bathed the land. We will have patience in this situation. My men will not jump hastily into any skirmish."

A disappointed silence slithered from every man present, wrapping around the table, then climbing up the walls. He wasn't sure if they were considering his words, or revolt.

"What do you care, Edward, if families are destroyed? I'd think a heartless bastard like you would welcome the violence." They dry statement came from across the table, where James reclined in his seat. "Aren't you eager to spill more venom? No matter the venom is Volturi rather than human?"

A sea of angry growls grew in volume, and several warriors whipped to face Edward, staring at him with expectation, as if they waited for him to coldly slay the warrior who had voiced what they had all been thinking. James merely laughed, daring anyone to act against him.

Did they truly consider him heartless? Edward wondered. Heartless enough to execute his own kind for something so trivial as a verbal insult? He was a killer, yes, but not heartless.

A heartless man felt nothing, and he felt _some_ emotions. Mild though they were. He simply knew how to control what he felt, knew how to bury it deep inside himself. That was the way he preferred his life. Intense emotions birthed turmoil, and turmoil birthed memories… His fingers tightened around his cup and he forced himself to relax.

He would rather feel nothing than relieve the agony of his past-the same agony that could very well become his present if he allowed a simple memory to take root and sprout its poisonous branches.

"My family is Atlantis," he finally said, his voice disturbingly calm. "I will do what I must to protect her. If that means waiting before declaring war and angering every one of me men, then so be it."

Realizing Edward could not be provoked, James shrugged and returned his attention to his meal.

"You are right, my friend." Grinning broadly, Jasper slapped his shoulder. "War is only fun if we emerge the victor. We heed your advice to wait most readily."

"Kiss his ass any harder," James muttered, "and your lips will become raw."

Jasper quickly lost his grin, and the medallion hanging from his neck began to glow. "What did you say?" he demanded quickly.

"Are your ears as feeble as the rest of you?" James pushed to his feet, leaving his palms planted firmly on the glossy tabletop. The two men glared at each other from across the distance, a charged stillness sparking between them. "I said, kiss his ass any harder, and your lips will become raw."

With a growl, Jasper launched himself over the table, knocking dishes and food to the ground in his haste to attack James. In midspring, you could see his skin visibly harden, incandesant wings sprouted from his back, ripping his shirt and pants in half, transforming from vampire to beast.

The same transformation overtook James, and the two beasts grappled to the ebony floor in a dangerous tangle of claws, teeth and fury.

Vampire warriors were able to change into true vampire's whenever they desired, though the transformation happened of its own volition whenever raging emotions gripped them. Edward himself had not experienced a change, impromptu or otherwise, since he discovered his family slaughtered over three hundred years ago. To be honest, Edward suspected his vampire form was somehow lost.

James snarled when Jasper threw him into the nearest wall, cracking the priceless ivory. He quickly recovered by whipping Jasper's face with his arm leaving a jagged and bleeding wound. Their infuriated snarls echoes as deep and sharp as any blade. A torrent of snarls erupted, followed quickly by an infuriated hiss. Over and over they bit and lashed out at each other, separated, circled, then clashed together again.

Every warrior save Edward leapt to his feet in a frenzy of excitement, hurriedly taking bets on who would win. "Eight gold drachmas on Jasper," Grayley proclaimed.

"Ten on James," Brittan shouted.

"Twenty if they both kill each other," Zaeven called excitedly.

"Enough," Edward said, his tone even, controlled.

The two combatants jumped apart as if he'd screamed the commence, both panting and facing each other like penned animals, ready to attack again at any moment.

"Sit," Edward said in that same easy tone.

They were too busy growling gutturally at each other to hear him, but only a second passed before the others obeyed. While they might wish to continue cheering and taking bet, Edward was the leader, their king, and they knew better than to defy him.

"I did not exclude you from the command," he said to James and Jasper, adding only slightly to his volume. "You will calm yourselves and sit."

Both men leveled narrowed gazes on him. He arched a harsh brow and motioned with his fingers a gesture that clearly said "Come and get me. Just don't expect to live afterward."

Minutes passed in suspended silence until finally, the panting warrior's assumed human form. Their wings recoiled, tucking tightly into the slits on their backs; their skin softer.

"I will not have discord in my palace," Edward told them.

Jasper wiped venom from his cheek and flicked James a narrowed glare. In return, James bared his sharp teeth and released a cutting growl.

They were already on the verge of morphing again Edward realized.

He worked a finger over his stubble chin. Never had he been more thankful that he was a man of great patience, yet he never had been more displeased with the system he had fashioned. His vampires were divided into four units. One unit patrolled the Inner City, while another patrolled the Outer. The third was allowed to roam free, pleasuring women, losing themselves in wine or whatever other vice versa they desired. The last had to stay here, training. Every four weeks, the units rotated.

These men had been here two days a mere two days and already they were restless. If he did not think or something to distract them, they might very well kill each other before their required time elapsed.

"What think you of a tournament of sword skill?" he asked determinedly.

Indifferent, some men shrugged. A few moaned, "Not again."

"No, "Carlisle said with a shake of his pale head, "you always win. And besides that, there is no prize."

"What would you like to do, then?"

Edward frowned. "You know I do not allow females inside the palace. They pose too many hostilities between you. And not the easy hostilities of a few moments ago."

Regretful groans greeted his words.

"I have an idea." Jasper faced him, a slow smile curling his lips, eclipsing all other emotions. "Allow me to propose a new contest. Not of physical strength but one of cunning and wits."

Instantly every head perked up. Even James lost his wrathful glare as interest lit his eyes.

Jasper's smile grew wider. "The contest is simple. The first man to make Edward lose his temper, wins."

"I do not-"Edward began, but Madox spoke over him, his rough voice laden with excitement.

"And just what does the winner gain?"

"The satisfaction of besting us all," Jasper replied.

"And a beating from Edward, I'm sure." He shrugged them a languid shrug and leaned back in the velvet cushions of his chair. He propped his ankles on the tabletop. "But I swear by the gods every bruise will be worth it."

Eight sets of eyes swung in Edward's direction and locked on him with unnerving interest. Weighing options. Speculating. "I do not-" he began again, but just like before he was silenced.

"I like the sound of this," James interjected. "Count me in."

"Me, too."

"And me, as well."

Before another man could so easily ignore him, Edward uttered one word. Simple but effective. "No." He swallowed a tasteless bite of fowl, then continued with the rest of his meal. "Now, tell me more of the Volturi's doing's."

"What about making him smile?" Facing Jasper, Madox shoved eagerly to his feet and leaned over the table. "Does that count?"

"Absolutely." Jasper nodded. "But there must be a witness to the deed, or no winner can be declared."

One by one, each man uttered, "Agreed."

"I will hear no more talk of this." When had he lost control of this conversation? "I-" Edward snapped his mouth closed. His venom was quickening with darkness and danger, and the hairs at the base of his neck were rising.

_The mist prepared for a traveler._

Resignation rushed through him and on the heels of that was cold determination. He eased up, his chair skidding slightly behind him.

Every voice tapered to silence. Every expression became curious.

"I must go," he said, the words flat, hollow. "We will discuss a tournament of sword skill when I return."

He attempted to stride from the room, but James leapt up and over the table and swiveled in front of him. "Does the mist call you?" the warrior asked, casually leaning one arm against the door frame and blocking the only exit.

Edward gave him no outward reaction. But then, when did he ever? "Step out of my way."

James arched an insolent brow. "Make me."

Someone snickered behind him.

With or without his approval, it seemed the game had already begun.

Edward easily lifted James by his shoulders and tossed the stunned man aside, slamming him into the far wall. He thudded to the floor in a gasping heap. Without facing the others, Edward asked, "Anyone else?"

"Me," came an unhesitant and unrepentant reply. A blur of black leather and silver knives, Madox rushed to stand at his side, watching him intently, gauging his reaction. "I want to stop you. Does make you angry? Make you want to scream and rail at me?"

An unholy light entered James eyes as he scrambled to his feet. He curled his fingers around the hilt of a nearby sword and stalked to Edward, his motions slow and deliberate. Never once pausing to consider the stupidity of his actions, he pointed the razor-sharp tip of the blade at Edwards neck.

"Would you show fear if I vowed to kill you." The infuriated man spat.

"That's taking things too far," Jasper growled, joining the growing group around him.

A drop of venom slithered down Edward's throat. The nick should have stung, but he felt nothing, not a single sensation. Only that ever present detachment.

No one realized his intentions. One moment Edward stood still, seemingly accepting of James assault, but the next he had his own sword unsheathed and directed at James neck. The man's eyes widened.

"Put your weapon away," Edward told him, "or I will kill you where you stand. I care not whether I live or die, but you, I think, care greatly for your own life."

One second dragged into two before a narrow eyes James lowered his sword.

Edward lowered his own weapon; his features remained stony. "Finish your meal, all of you, then retire to the practice area. You will exercise until you have not the strength to stand. That's an order.

He strode from the chamber quite aware he had not given his men the reaction they craved.

EDWARD DESCENDED the cave steps four at a time. Ready to finish the deed and resume his meal in private, he removed his shirt and tossed the black fabric into the far corner. The medallion he wore, as well as the tattoos on his chest glowed like tiny pinpricks of flame, waiting for him to fulfill his vow.

Expression blank, mind clear, he tightened his clasp on his sword, positioned himself to the left of the mist… and he waited.

SO there you have it..

Some information on Edward. Yeah he may seem cold. And well he is.

I'm not going to lie to you there.

This chapter may have seem a little bit confusing..

But if you have any questions just let me know and ill answer them for you..

So review you get chapter..

No review no chapter.

PS: Who do you thinks the traveler ?


	3. Chapter 2

Roses are red,

Violets are blue.

I don't own Twilight nor Heart of a Dragon,

So please don't sue.

Isabella Swan always hoped she'd die from intense pleasure while having sex with her husband. Well, she wasn't married, and she'd never had sex, but she was still going to die.

And not from intense pleasure.

From heat and exhaustion? Maybe.

From hunger? Possibility.

From her own stupidity? Absolutely.

She was lost and alone in the freaking Amazon jungle.

As she strode past tangled green vines and towering trees, beads of sweat trickled down her chest and back. Small shards of light seeped from the leafy canopy above, providing hazy visibility. Barely adequate, but appreciated. The smells of rotting vegetation, old rain and flowers mingled together, forming a conflicting fragrance of sweet and sour. She wrinkled her nose.

"All I wanted was a little excitement." She muttered. "Instead I end up broke, lost, and trapped in this bug infested sauna."

To complete her descent into hell, she expected the sky to open and pour out a deluge of rain at any moment.

The only good thing about her current circumstances was that all this hiking and sweating might actually help her lose a few pounds from her too-curvy figure. Not that losing weight did her any good here. Except, perhaps, in her obituary.

New Yorker found dead in Amazon.

At least she looked good.

Scowling, she swatted a mosquito trying to drink her arm dry, even though she'd applied several layers of ucuru oil to prevent such bites. Where the hell was Emmett? She should have run into her brother by now. Or, at the very least, stumbled upon a tour group. Or even blundered upon an indigenous tribe.

If only she hadn't taken an extended leave of absence from AirTravel, she'd be soaring through the air, relaxed and listening to the hypnotic hum of a jet engine.

"I'd be in an air-conditioned G-IV," she said, slashing her hand like a machete through the think, green foliage. "I'd be sipping vanilla Coke." Another slash. "I'd be listening to my co-workers discuss stiletto heels, expensive dates and mind-shattering orgasms."

_And I'd still be miserable_, she thought, _wishing I were anywhere else_.

She stopped abruptly and closed her eyes. _I just want to be happy. Is that too much to ask?_

Obviously.

So often lately she battled a sense of discontent, a desire to experience so much more. Her best friend Angela had tried to warn her what such discontent would bring her. "You're going to get yourself in trouble," she'd admonished. But had Bella listened? N_oooo. _Instead she'd followed her sister Alice's lovely bit of wisdom. Alice, for god's sake! The women who wore miniskirts and halter tops. "I know you've done some exciting things, Bell's honey," Alice had said, "but that's not really lying. Something's missing from your life and if you don't find it, you'll end up a shriveled old prune like your mom."

Something _was_ missing from Bella's life. She knew that, and in an effort to find that mysterious "something," she'd tried speed dating, Internet dating and single bars. When those failed, she decided to give night school a try. Not to meet men, but to learn. Not that the cosmetology classes had done her any good. The best stylists in the world could tame her wild brown curls. After that, she'd tried race-car driving and step class. She'd even gotten her belly button pierced. Nothing helped.

What would it take to make her feel whole, complete?

"Not this jungle, that's for sure," she grumbled, jolting back into motion. "Someone please tell me," she said to the heavens, "why satisfaction always dances so quickly out of my reach. I'm dying to know."

Traveling the world had always been her dream, and becoming a flight attendant for private charter had seemed like the perfect job for her. She hadn't realized she would become an airborne waitress, jaunting from hotel to hotel, never actually enjoying the state/country/hellhole she found herself in. Sure, she'd scaled mountains, surfed the ocean waves and jumped from a plane, but the joy of those adventures never remained and like everything else she'd tried, they always left her feeling more unsatisfied than before.

That's why she had come here, to try something new. Something with a bit more danger. Her brother was an employee of Argonauts, a mythoarchaeological company that had recently discovered the crude glider constructed by Daedalus of Athens a discovery that rocked the scientific and mythological communities. Emmett spent his days and nights delving deep into the world's myths, proving or disproving them.

With such a fulfilling job, he didn't have to worry about becoming a shriveled old prune. _Not like me_, she lamented.

Wiping the sweat from her brow, Bella increased her pace. About a week ago, Emmett had shipped her a package containing his journal and gorgeous necklace with two dangling, intertwined vampire fangs. No note of explanation accompanied the gifts. Knowing he was in Brazil and looking for a portal that led into the lost city of Atlantis she'd decided to join him, leaving a message on his cell phone with details of her flight.

With a sigh, she fingered the vampire chain hanging at her neck. When Emmett failed to pick her up at the airport, she should have returned home. "But noo," she said with deep self-loathing, suddenly more aware of her dry, cotton mouth. "I hired a local guide and tried to find him. 'Si, senhorina,'" she mimicked the guide. "'Of course, senhorina. Anything at all, senhorina.'"

"Bastard," she muttered.

Today, two miserable days into her trek, her kind, considerate, I-only-want-to-help-you guide had stolen her backpack and abandoned her here. Now she had no food, no water, no tent. She did, however, have a weapon. A weapon she had used to shoot that bastard it the ass as he ran away. The memory caused her lips to curl in a slow smile, and she lovingly patted the revolver resting in the waist of her dirty canvas pants.

Her smile didn't last long, however, as the midday heat continued to pound against her. In all her wildest dreams, her need for fulfillment had never ended like this. She'd envisioned laughter and-

Something hard slammed into her head and jostled her forward. She yelped, her heart pounding in her chest as she rubbed her now throbbing temple and skimmed her gaze over the ground, searching for the source of her pain.

_Oh, thank you, thank you,_ she mentally cried when she spied the rosy-colored fruit. Mouth watering, she studied the delicious looking juice seeping from the smashed remains. Was it poisonous? And did she care if it was? She licked her lips. No, she didn't care. Death by poison was preferable to walking away from this unexpected treasure.

Just as she reached down to scoop up what she could, another missile crashed into her back.

She gasped and jerked upright.

Spinning, she sent her narrowed gaze through the trees. About ten yards away and fifteen feet up she discovered a small hairy monkey holding a piece of fruit in each hand. Her jaw dropped open in disbelief. Was he… smiling?

He swung back both of his arms and launched each piece at her. She was too stunned to move and simply watched as they splattered against her pants, stinging her thighs with their impact. Laughing, proud of himself, the monkey jumped up and down and waved his limbs widely through the air.

She knew what he was thinking: _ha,ha, there's nothing you can do about it. _This was too much. Robbed, abandoned, then assaulted by a primate who should pitch for the Yankees. Scowling, at her wits end, she picked up the fruit, claimed two mouthwatering bites, paused, claimed two more bites, and then launched what was left. She nailed her target in the ear. He lost his smile.

"Nothing I can do about it, huh? Well, take that you rotten fuzz ball."

Her victory was short-lived. In the next instant, fruit sailed at her from every direction. Monkeys littered the trees! Realizing she was outnumbered and outgunned, Bella grabbed what fruit she could, ducked behind a tree, jumped over a swarm of fire ants and ran. Ran without knowing what direction she traveled. Ran until she was certain her lungs would collapse from exertion.

When she finally slowed her pace, she sucked in a breath, then bit into her bounty. Sucked in another breath, then bit into the fruit again, continually alternating between the two. As the sweet juices ran down her throat, she moaned in surrender.

_Life is good_, she thought.

Until another hour passed. By then her body forgot that she'd had any nourishment, and lethargy beat rough fists inside her, causing her feet to drag. Her bones were liquefying, and her mouth felt dryer than sand. But she kept walking, each step creating a mantra in her brain. Find. Emmett. Find. Emmett. Find. Emmett. He was out here somewhere, looking for that silly portal, perhaps blithely unaware of her presence.

Unfortunately the deeper she roamed through the jungle the more lost and alone she became. The trees and liana thickened, as did the darkness. At least the scent of rot evaporated, leaving only luscious wild heliconias and dewy orchards. If she didn't find shelter soon, she would collapse wherever she found herself, helpless against nature. Though her vaccinations were up-to-date, she hated snakes and insects more than hunger and fatigue.

Several yards, a tapir and two capybaras later, she had made no progress that she could see. Her arms and legs were so heavy they felt like steel clubs. Not knowing what else to do, she sank to the ground. As she lay there, she heard the gentle song of the insects and the- Her eardrums perked. The peaceful trickle of water? She blinked, listening more intently. Yes, she realized with excitement. She was actually hearing the glorious swoosh of water.

_Get up_, she commanded herself. _Get up, get up, get up! _

Using every bit of strength she possessed, she pushed to her hands and knees and crawled into a thick tangle of vegetation. Forest life pulsed vibrantly around her, mocking her weakness. Brilliant, damp green leaves parted and the ground became wetter and wetter until becoming completely submerged by an underground spring. The clear, turquoise water smelled clean and refreshing.

Shaking with the force of her need, she cupped her hand together, scooped up the cool, heavenly liquid and drank deeply. Her parched lips welcomed every wet, delicious drop … until her chest began to burn, hotter and hotter, like she was swallowing molten lava. Except, the sensation came from outside of her body, not the inside.

The heat became unbearable, and she shrieked. Jolting up, her gaze locked on to the twin vampire teeth dangling from the silver chain around her neck. Both sets of ruby fangs were glowing a bright, eerie red.

She tried to jerk the thing over her head but was suddenly propelled forward by an invisible force. Arms flailing, she broke past an amazingly think wall of flora. She abruptly stilled as the medallion cooled against her chest.

Her eyes grew impossibly round as she studied her new surroundings. She had entered some sort of cave. Drip, Drip. Droplets of water beat against the rocky floor. A cool, welcoming breeze kissed her face as relief nearly buckled her knees. The tranquil ambiance flowed into her, helping to calm her racing heart and labored breathing.

"All I need now is the powdered eggs, canned beans, and coffee that were in my pack and I'll die happy."

Too exhausted to care what might be inside, waiting for a tasty human to appear, she scrambled deeper inside the passage and down a steep incline. The ceiling constricted and lowered, until she had to crouch and kneel. How long she crawled, she didn't know. Minutes? Hours? She only knew she needed to find a smooth, dry surface so that she could sleep. Gradually a ribbon of light appeared. The muted beam snaked around the corner like a summoning finger. She followed.

And found Paradise.

Light crowned a small, iridescent pool of … water? The dappled ice-blue liquid seemed thicker than water, almost like a clear, transparent gel. Instead of lying on the ground, however, the pool hung upright at a slight angle, mush like a portrait on a wall. Yet there was no wall to support it.

Why wasn't it spilling over? She wondered dazedly. Her foggy brain couldn't quite sort through the bizarre information. Balmy tendrils of mist enveloped the entire haven. A few ethereal strands reached the cavern top, swirling, circling, and then gently dipping back down.

She uttered a nervous laugh, and the sound echoes all around her.

Bella reached out carefully, meaning only to touch and examine the strange substance. At the moment of contact, a violent jolt exploded within her, and she felt as if her entire being was sucked into a vacuum, pulling her, tugging her in every direction.

The world crumbled, breaking around her piece by fragile, needed piece, until finally ceasing to exist. Terror unfurled and consumed her. She was falling slowly, falling down. Her arms reached out, desperate for a solid anchor, yet no tangible object greeted her palms.

That's when the screams began. High-pitched, disharmonized, like a thousand screeching children running all around her. She covered her ears to block the sound. She needed the noise to stop, had to make it stop. But the screams only grew louder. More intense.

"Help me!" she cried.

Stars burst like fireworks at her side, spinning her round and round. Spinning her up and down. Waves of nausea churned inside her stomach, and she tried valiantly to regain any sense of time or place.

Suddenly everything quieted.

Her feet touched a hard surface; she swayed but didn't fall. The nausea slowly receded. Cautiously she shifted her feet, ascertaining that she truly stood on a stable foundation.

In. Out. Relieved, she drew in a breath and slowly let it out. In. Out. When her head cleared, she cracked open her eyelids. A haze of dew still rose from the small pool like strands of pale, glistening ivy composed entirely of fairy dust. The beautiful sight was spoiled only by the stark contours if the gloomy cavern-a cavern that was different from the one she'd first entered.

Her brows furrowed. Here, the rocky walls were covered with strange, colorful markings, like liquid gold upon forgotten ash. And .. was that splattered blood? Shuddering, she tore her haze away. The floor was damp, burdened with odd-shaped twigs, rocks and straw. Several crudely carved chairs pushed against the far corner.

Instead of miserable humidity, she inhaled air as cold as winter ice. Air that possessed a sickeningly metallic bite, the dappled pool had been on the right side, not on the left.

How had her surroundings changed so drastically and quickly without her moving a step? She shivered. What was going on? This couldn't be a dream or hallucination. The sights and smells were too real, too frightening. Has she dies? No, no. This certainly wasn't heaven, and it was too cold to be hell.

So what had happened?

Before her mind could form an answer, a twig snapped.

Bella's chin whipped to the side, and she found herself staring into the cold, forest-green eyes that swirled in startling precision with the mist. She sucked in an awed breath. The owner of those extraordinary eyes was the most ferociously masculine man she'd ever seen. A scar slashed from his left eyebrow all the way to his chin. His cheekbones were sharp, his jaw square. The only softness to his face was his gloriously lush mouth that somehow gave him the hypnotic beauty of a fallen angel.

He stood in front of her, at least six foot five and pure, raw muscle. He was shirtless, his stomach cut into several perfect rows of strength. A six-pack, she mused, the first she'd ever seen in real life. Shards of mist fell around him like glittery drops of rain, leaving glistening beads of moisture on his pale tattooed chest.

Those tattoos were glowing, but more than that, they appeared alive. A fierce pair of fangs spread across seemingly to glow of its own accord. The left fang dipped low, past the waist of the black leather pants. Around it's were black symbols that boasted curling slashes and jagged points. These stretched the length of his collarbone and around the biceps.

The man himself proved more barbarous than his tattoos. He held a long, menacing sword.

A wave of fear swept through her, but that didn't stop her from staring. He was utterly savage. Fascinatingly sensual. He reminded her of a caged, wild animal. Ready to strike. Ready to consume. Danger radiated from his every pore, from the dark rim of his crystalline, predator eyes, to the blades strapped to his boots.

With a flick of his wrist, he twirled the sword around his head.

She inched backward. Surely he didn't mean to use that thing. My God, he was lifting it higher as if he really did mean to … "Whoa, there." She managed a shaky laugh. "Put that away before you hurt someone." _Namely me._

He gave the lethal weapon another twirl, brandishing the sharp silver with strong, sure hands. His washboard abs rippled as he moved closer to her. Not a trace of emotion touched his expression. Not anger, fear, or mischievousness, offering her no clue as to why he felt the need to practice sword-slicing techniques in front of her.

He stared at her. She stared back, and told herself it was because she was too afraid to look away.

"I mean you no harm," she managed to croak out. Time dragged when he didn't respond.

Before her horror filled eyes, his sword began to slice downward, aimed straight for her throat. He was going to kill her! On instinct, she swiped her gun from the waist of her pants. Her breath snagged in her throat, burning like acid as she squeezed the trigger. Click, click, click.

Nothing happened.

Shit. Shit! The cylinder was empty. She must have used all of her bullets on her bastard of a guide. The gun shook in her hand, and terror wrapped around her with the chill of a wintry storm. Her gaze scanned the cave, searching for a way out. The mist was the only exit, but the savage warrior's big, strong body no blocked it,

"Please," she whispered, not knowing what else to do or say.

Either the man didn't hear her, or he didn't care what she said. His sharp, deadly sword continued to inch closer and closer to her neck.

She squeezed her eyelids tightly shut as the blade punctured her neck.


	4. Chapter 3

Roses are red,

Violets are blue.

I don't own Twilight nor Heart of a Dragon,

So please don't sue.

Edward uttered a fierce curse and removed the sword from the women's neck. The action danced a delicate breeze through the brown tendrils of her hair. The fact that he could see the actual color, startled him enough that he hesitated to destroy the possessor of such brilliance.

He fought past his shock and gripped his weapon at his side, trying to prepare his limbs to wreak destruction. Trying to force icy determination through his veins and push away any thoughts of mercy or sorrow. He knew what he had to do. Strike. Destroy.

That was his oath.

But her hair … His eyes basked in their first intake of color in over three hundred years. His fingers itched to touch. His senses longed to explore.

_Kill_, his mind demanded. _Act!_

His teeth gnashed together, and his shoulders tightened. His tutor's voice echoes through him. _"Killing travelers is your obligation. Killing them is your privilege."_

There were times, like now, he loathed the tasks he performed, but never once had he hesitated to do what was needed. He'd simply continued on, assassination after assassination, knowing there was no other alternative for him. His vampire life force had long since overpowered his mortal side. There was a conscience living inside him, yes, but it was shriveled and decayed from lack of use.

So why was he hesitating now, with _this _traveler?

He studied her. Freckles dotted her skin, and streaks of dirt marred her jaw. Her nose was small and elfin, her lashes thick, sooty, and so long they cast spiky shadows on her cheeks. Slowly she opened her eyes, and he sucked in a heated breath. Her eyes we a mahogany brown and flecked with ribbons of gold. These new colors mesmerized him, enchanted him. Made his every protective instinct surface. Worse…

It shouldn't have-gods, it shouldn't have-but desire coiled inside him, powerful coils that refused to loosen their grip.

When the women realized his sword tip pointed to the ground, she crouched down ever so slightly, clutching an oddly shaped metal object, He could only assume she was in attack position. She was frightened, true, but to survive she would fight him with all her strength.

Could he really destroy such bravery?  
Yes. He must.

He would.

Mayhap he truly was the heartless beast Tagart had called him. No, surly not, he thought in the next instant. The very actions that made him evil made him a keeper of the peace and provided safety for all residing in Atlantis.

There could be no other way.

Yet looking at this newest intruder, really looking at her, he _felt_ like a beast. Her features were so guileless, so angelic, sparks of some unfamiliar emotion crackled within him. Concern? Regret? Shame?

A combination of all three?

The sensation was so new, he had trouble identifying exactly what it was. What made this traveler so different from the others that he saw colors-and, gods forbid, felt desire? The fact that she resembled a delicate fairy queen? Or the fact that she was everything he'd always secretly wanted-beauty, gentleness, and joy-but he knew he could never have?

Unbidden, his gaze drank in the rest of her. She was not tall, but had a regal bearing that gave her an air of height. Her skin was smudged with grime and sweat that did nothing to detract. Her clothing fit her rounded curves to perfection and paid her beauty proper homage.

More unwelcome sensations pulsed through him, unnamable sensations. Hated sensations. He should feel nothing; he should remain detached. But he felt; and he wasn't. He yearned to trace his fingertips all over her to immerse himself in her softness, to bask in her colorful brilliance. He yearned to taste, yes, actually taste her entire body and drive away the flavor of nothingness.

"No," he said, more for his benefit than her own. "No."

He _must_ destroy her.

She had broken the law of the mist.

All those years ago a guardian had failed to accomplish his duty, had failed to protect Atlantis, and in turn brought about the deaths of many people-people Edward had loved. He could not, _would _not allow even this fairy queen to survive.

Knowing this, Edward still remained in place, unmoving. His cold, hard logic warred against his primitive, male appetite. If only the woman would glance away…but seconds turned to minutes, and her gaze remained fixed on him, studying. Perhaps even appreciating.

Desperate to escape the metal hold she had on him, he demanded, "Turn your gaze, woman."

Slowly, so slowly, she shook her head, whisking brown tendrils around her temples. "I'm sorry. I don't understand what you're saying."

Even her voice was innocent, soft and lyrical, a caress of his senses. Yet he had no idea what she had said.

"Damn this," he muttered. "And damn me."

The corners of his lips twitched in a scowl. He commanded himself to remain indifferent to her while he sheathed his sword and closed the distance between them. There was no reason to do what he was about to do, but he could not stop himself. His actions were no longer controlled by his mind, but by some force he didn't understand or want to acknowledge.

She gasped at his approach. "What are you doing?"

He pressed her back, crowding her until she met the rock-lined wall; she kept the metal object directed at him, the silly thing clicking over and over again. Did she truly expect to protect herself from a vampire warrior with such a useless object? He easily pried it from her fingers and tossed it behind his shoulder. Unbeaten, she lashed out, kicking and hitting and scratching like a wild demon.

He secured her by the wrists, pinning them above her head. "Cease," he said. When she continued to squirm, he sighed and waited for her to tire. Only a few minutes passed before her movements slowed, then halted altogether.

"You'll go to prison for this," she said, dragging in breath after breath.

Her warm exhalations caressed his chest, their intoxicating sweetness a tangible entity that prodded his memory, like a gentle reminder of the family he couldn't quite banish from his mind. He almost jerked away from her but the scent of fear and woman enveloped him, a sensual declaration of her appeal. He'd smelled nothing but ash for so long; he couldn't help but luxuriate in this new fragrance. Inhaling deeply, he pressed against her, brushing her body with his, closing all hint of separation. The need to touch her, any part of her, refused to leave him.

She shivered. From the cold? He wondered. Or from a turbulent desire similar to his own? Her nipples were pebbled against his ribs, erotically abrading, and as he watched her nibble her soft bottom lip, the arousal he felt for her became a storm. A desperate, wild storm. A storm so intense it was like a supernatural entity. His vampire venom flowed to his cock like a freshly sprung river, hot and consuming.

Her lips curled into a self-disparaging smile. The moment he realized he was actually smiling, he frowned. How his men would have laughed to crown this dainty creature the winner of their wager. Yet he couldn't seem to make himself care. By the gods, he'd never felt anything so perfect, so right. He snorted.

His captive blinked up, and their gazes collided. Had white-hot sparks of awareness visibly enveloped them at that moment he would not have been surprised.

This women is your enemy, he reminded himself, gritting his teeth and shifting his hips so that his erection remained a safe distance away.

"The mind is open, the ears will hear," he bit out. "Understand we do, apart or near. My words are yours; your words are mine. This I speak. This I bind. From this moment, through all of time."

Still watching her, he said, "Do you understand my words now?"

"Yes. I-I do." Her eyes widened, darkening with renewed flecks of alarm. Her mouth opened and closed several times as she struggles to form a coherent rejoinder. "How?" was all she could manage. Her voice was strained. Then, she added more strongly, "How?"

"I cast a spell of comprehension over your mind."

"Spell? No, no. That's not possible." She took her head. "I speak three languages, and I had to work hard to learn every one of them. What did you do to me? What did you do to my brain?"

"I have already explained that to you."

"Don't tell me the truth then." She laughed, the sound emerging desperate rather than humorous. "None of this matters, anyway. Tomorrow morning I'll wake up and discover this was all a horrible nightmare."

No, she wouldn't, he thought, hating himself more at that moment than ever before. Tomorrow's dawning she would not wake at all. "You should not have come here, woman," he said. "Do you care nothing for your life?"

"Is that a threat?" She fought against his hold. "Let me go."

"Cease your struggles. Your actions merely press your body deeper into mine."

She immediately stilled.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"I'm an American citizen, and I know my rights. You can't keep me here against my will."

"I can do anything I like."

All color drained from her face because there was no denying the truth of his words.

To prolong her demise like this cruel, his mind shouted. Close your eyes and strike.

Once again his mind and body acted as separate entities. He found himself releasing her and stepping backward. She leapt away from him as if he were a hideously misshapen Formorian.

He focused all of his might on her destruction, looking anywhere except her enigmatic brown eyes, thinking of anything except her fierce, admirable spirit. Her shirt was torn and gaped down the middle, reveling the hint of two perfect breasts encased in pale pink lace. Another spark of desire flared inside him. Until his gaze locked on the two sets of fangs that hung in the valley of her breasts.

His breath snagged as he studied the ornament more intently. Surely that was not…could not be…

But it was.

A frown cemented his features, and his fingers fisted so tightly his bones almost snapped. How had this woman come to possess such a sacred talisman? The gods awarded every vampire warrior a Ra-Dracus, a Vampire's Teeth, upon reaching manhood, and a warrior never removed his guft, not for any reason save death. The markings etched at the base of this one were familiar to him, but he could not recall exactly whom it belonged.

Not this woman, that much he knew. She was not a vampire, nor was she a child of Atlantis.

His frown deepened. Ironically the very oath that commanded him to harm her also compelled him to keep her alive until she explained how and why she had the medallion. Reaching out, he attempted to remove it from her neck. She slapped his palm and scampered backward.

"Wh-what are you doing?" she demanded.

"Give me the medallion."

She didn't cower at his hard tone as most would have done. Nor did she jump to obey. No, she returned his gaze with unflinching courage. Or stupidity. She remained firmly in place, hands at her side.

"Don't come any closer," she told him.

"You wear the mark of a vampire," he continued. "And you, woman, are no vampire. Give me the medallion."

"The only thing I'll give you is an ass-kicking, you rotten thief. Stay back."

He leveled her with a resolute gaze. She was defensive and fearful. Not a good combination when trying to obtain answers. He almost sighed. "I am called Edward,' he said. "Does that ease your fears?"

"No, no it doesn't." Contrary to her words, her muscles relaxed slightly. "My brother gave me this necklace. It's my only link to him right now, and I'm not giving it up."

Edward worried a hand down his face. "What is your name?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"What is your name?" he repeated. "Do not forget who holds the sword."

"Bella Swan," she reluctantly supplied.

"Where is your brother now, Bella Swan?" Her name floated easily from his tongue. Too easily. "I wish to speak with him."

"I don't know where he is."

And she did not like that she did not know, he realized, studying the worry in her eyes. "No matter," he said. "The medallion does not belong to him, either. "It belongs to a vampire, and I _will_ have it back."

She studied him for a long, silent moment, the offered him a sunny if brittle smile. "You're right. You can have it. I just need a moment to take it off." She raised her arms as if she meant to do as she'd claimed-take it off. But in the next instant, she darted forward until she stood poised at the mist's entrance. His arm snaked out and jerked her back into the hard circle of his body. She gasped on impact.

Had his reflexes not been so quick, he would have lost her.

"You dare defy me?" he said, perplexed. As leader of this palace, he was used to having his every command obeyed. That this woman opposed him was shocking, yet somehow added to her appeal.

"Let me go!"

He held steady. "Struggling is pointless and merely delays what must be done."

"What must be done?" Instead of calming, she beat her pointy little elbows into his stomach. "What the hell must be done/"

He whirled her around and used one of his hands as a shackle, locking her against him, chest to chest, hardness to softness.

"Be still!" he shouted. Then blinked. Shouted? Yes, he'd actually raised his voice.

Amazingly enough, she stilled. Her breath came shallow and fast. Amid the growing quiet, he began to hear the beat of her heart, a staccato rhythm that reverberated in his ears. Their gazes narrowed on each other and looking away proved impossible. Minutes ticked by unnoticed.

"Please," she said at last whispered, and he wasn't sure if she was asking him to release her or hold her more tightly.

He used his free hand to smooth up the velvety soft expanse of her neck, and then gently flicked her hair out of the way. The heat of her beckoned him to linger, and he fought the urge to glide his hands across her every feminine peak and hollow, from the plumpness of her breasts, to the slight roundness of her stomach. From the exotic slope of her legs, to the hot wetness of her center.

Was she the kind of woman who could accept and return the barbarity of his passion? Or would she find him more than she could handle?

The thought jarred him, and he gave a brutal shake of his head to dislodge it. Whether she could handle him or not didn't matter. He wasn't going to bed this woman.

And yet…

He easily imagined Bella naked and in his bed, her body splayed for his view. Her arms open and waiting for him. She would smile slowly, seductively, and he would climb just as slowly atop her, dance his tongue over every delectable inch of her, enjoy her languidly-or let her enjoy him-until they both collapsed.

The fantasy caused his desire to intermingle with tenderness, each sensation sparking off the other as they raced through him.

Desire he could tolerate. Tenderness he could not.

For years he'd tried to suppress his physical needs, but he'd learned that was impossible. So he'd begun to allow himself the occasional woman, taking and pleasing them hard and fast, then leaving them quickly afterward. He didn't kiss, didn't savor. Just took them with a total absorption that often left his chosen bedmate exhausted and reeling.

He needed that same absorption now, only channeled differently. He needed to distance himself from Grace's appeal. With that firmly rooted in his mind, he hurriedly unhooked the chain's clasp from around her neck, though he was careful not to bruise her.

"Give that back," she demanded, pulling against his old. "Its mine."

"No. It is _mine_."

Her expression turned venomous.

Without removing his gaze from her, Edward secured the medallion around his own neck, causing it to clang against the other Ra-Dracus. "I have many questions for you, and I expect you to answer every one," he told her. "If you utter a single untruth, you will regret it. Is that clear?"

A strangled breath slipped past her lips.

"Do you understand?" he reiterated.

Wide-eyed, she nodded slowly.

"Then we will begin. You told me you want to give the medallion back to your brother. Why? What does he plan to do with it?"

"I-I don't know."

Did she lie? The angelic cast of her features suggested no untruth had ever passed from her lips. Thinking of her lips brought his gaze to them. They were plump lips. Lips made for a man's pleasure. He ran his hand down his face, unsure what to believe, but knowing he should not imagine those lips slipping up and down his shaft, her brown hair spilling over his thighs.

"Where did he acquire it?" Edward ground out.

"I don't know," she said hollowly.

"From whom did he acquire it?"

"His boss."

His boss…Edward's jaw tickled. That meant there were more surface dwellers involved. "How long has the chain been in your profession?"

She closed her eyes for a moment, silently counting the days. "A little over a week."

"Do you know what it is? Or what it does?"

"It does nothing," she said, her brow furrowed. "It's just a necklace. A piece of jewelry.

He regarded her intently, studying, gauging. "How, then, did you find the mist?"

She pushed out a breath. "I don't know, okay. I was walking around that damn jungle. I was hot and tired and hungry. I discovered an underground spring, stumbled upon the cave and crawled inside."

"Did anyone enter the cave with you?"

"No."

"Are you certain?"

She glared up at him, daring him to do what he would. "Yes, damn it. I;m certain. I was alone out there."

"If you have lied…" He allowed his threat to hang in the air unsaid.

"I told you the truth," she snapped.

Has she? He honestly didn't know. He only knew that he wanted to believe every word she uttered. He was too captivated by her beauty. Too entranced by her scent. He should kill her here and now, but he couldn't bring himself to hurt her. Not yet. Not until he'd had time and distance to put her in proper perspective.

I'm a fool, he thought. Edward grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her over his shoulder. She began kicking immediately, and her nails raked down his back.

"Put me down, you Neanderthalic bastard!" Her shrieks echoes in his ears!" Her shrieks echoes in his ears. "I answered your questions. You have to let me go."

"Perhaps a little time in my chamber will make those answers of your improve. Surley you can do better than "I don't know.'"

"Improve? Improve! If I'd given you different answers, I would have been lyring."

"We shall see."

He strode up the cave stairs and into the palace above.

She continued to squirm and kick, and he continued to hold her firmly with his arms. He was careful to avoid his men as he carried her to his chamber. Once there, he tossed her stop the velvet covered mattress and tied her flaing arms and legs to the posts. Seing her splayed on his bed made him sweat and ache. Made him rock-hard. Gods, he couldn't deal with her now, not when she looked so…eatable. Without another glance in her direction, he turned and strode into the hall. The door closed behind him of its own accord.

Sooner or later, the woman would have to die…by his own hand.

I have all these hits and 7 reviews.

I have a few chapters typed out..

When I get the following amount of reviews is when the next chapter will be up.

10-15 reviews (Friday)

16-20(Thursday)

21+ (Tomorrow, Wednesday)

Sorry ..


	5. Chapter 4

Roses are red,

Violets are blue.

I don't own Twilight nor Heart of a Dragon,

So please don't sue.

Alone in the room, Bella tugged and squirmed until she freed her wrists. She untied the knots at her ankles and jerked upright. Emmett had tied her up many times when they'd been children, so escaping seemed like child's play. Besides that, her captor had not tied the knots that tight. She dragged in a shaky breath as her gaze darted throughout the spacious interior, taking in every detail. Other than the gloriously soft bed she sprawled upon, a tiered ivory chest was the only other furnishings. Colors … so may colors glistened from the jagged walls like rainbow shards trapped in onyx. There was a cream and marble hearth, unlit and pristine. The only exit was a door with no handle.

_Where the hell am I?_ she wondered, panic rising.

Fear and adrenaline pounded furiously through her blood. A man who could afford this type of luxury could afford an impregnable security system. She fisted her hands on the sapphire velvet coverlet as another thought invaded her mind. A man who could afford this type of luxury could afford and torture an innocent women with no consequences.

Shooting to her feet, she tried to fight past her fear_. I'll be okay. I'll be okay_. She just needed to find a way out of here. Before _he_ returned. She raced to the door, clawing at the tiny seam. When that didn't work, she pushed, trying to force the doors to split down the middle. The thick ivory remained firmly in place, refusing to budge even a little. She expelled a frustrated screech. She should have expected no different. Like he'd me escape that easy.

What was she going to do?

There were no windows to crawl through. And the ceiling … she glanced upward and gasped. The ceiling was comprised of layered crystal prisms, the source of the room's light. A thin crack stretched across the middle from one end to the other, giving way to a spectacular view of swirling, turquoise liquid. Yet the liquid didn't drip through. Fish and other sea creatures-those were not mermaids, she assured herself-swam playfully through the water.

_I'm underwater. Underwater! _She banged her fists against the door. "Let me out of here, damn you!'

No response was forthcoming.

"This is illegal. If you don't let me out, you'll be arrested. I swear you will. You'll go to prison and be forced to have intimate relations with a man named Butch. Let. Me. Out.

Again, no response. Her punches slowed, and then stopped altogether. She rested her check against the coolness of the door. _Where the hell am I?_ She wondered once more.

Something tugged at her memory … something she had read. A book or a magazine. Or … Emmett's journal! She realized. The bottom dropped from her stomach, and she squeezed her eyes shut as the full implication hit her. Her brother had written about a doorway from earth o Atlantis, a portal surrounded by mist. Her mouth formed in an "O" as a section of his text invaded her mind, clicking in place like the piece of a puzzle, but of horrible creatures found only in nightmares, a place the gods had hidden their greatest mistakes.

Her knees weakened and her stomach clenched. Turning, placing her back to the door, she sank to the cold, hard ground. It was true. She had traveled though the mist. She was in Atlantis. With horrible creatures even the gods feared.

_Let this be a dream, a dream I'll awaken from any moment. I promise I won't complain about anything ever again. I'll be content._

If the gods heard her, they ignored her.

Wait, she thought shaking her head. She didn't believe in ancient Greek gods.

I have to get out of here. She'd wanted danger and fulfillment, yes, but not this. Never this. En route to Brazil, she'd imagined how intrepid she would feel helping Emmett, how accomplished she would feel proving or disproving such a well-loved myth.

Well, she'd just proved it-and she felt anything but accomplished.

'Atlantis," she whispered brokenly, staring over at the bed. The comforter appeared quilted from glass, yet she knew exactly how soft it was. She was in Atlantis, home of minotaur's, Formorians, werewolves, and vampires. And so many more creatures her brother hadn't been able to name them all. Her stomach gave another painful clench.

Just what type of creature was her captor?

She searched her memory. Minotaur's were half bull and half human. While he may have acted like a bull, he had not possessed the physical characteristics of one. Formorians were one-armed and one-legged creatures. Could he be a werewolf or a dragon? Yet neither of those seemed right, either.

With his vampire fang tattoos, he seemed more like, well, a vampire. Could that be right? Didn't vampires have red eyes and long cloaks and look like Dracula? Perhaps he was the only human here. Or perhaps he was a male nymph, a creature so sexual, so potent and virile; he could not be released into human society. That certainly explained her hopelessly powerful reaction to him.

"Edward,' she said, rolling his name across her tounge.

She shivered twice, once in fear and once in something she didn't want to name, as his image filled her mind. He was a man of contradictions. With his swirling, forest green eyes, harsh demanding tone and rock solid muscles, he personified everything cold and callous, everything incapable of offering warmth. And yet, when he touched her, she'd felt molten lava run through her veins.

The man reeked of danger, resembling a warrior who lived with no laws, but his own. Like the deliciously tantalizing warriors she read about in romance novels. This was no novel however. This man was real. Raw and primal. Purely masculine. When he spoke, his voice resonated a dark, barley leashed power reminiscent of midnight tempests and exotic, foreign lands. Despite everything, she had been drawn to him in the cave.

Despite everything, she was _still_ drawn to him.

Never, in all of her twenty-four years, had a man stirred such a sensuous awareness inside her. That this man did, a man who had threatened her-several times-blew her mind. He'd even tried to slice her in half with that monstrous sword of his. _But he didn't _her mind whispered. His touch had been so gentle … almost reverent. At times, she thought his gaze was pleading with her to touch him in return.

_"You need your head examined, Bella, if you actually find that man attractive." _Angela's stern voice reverberated in her mind._ "Tattoos, swords. Not to mention the beastly way he carries you over his shoulder. Why, I was horrified.'_

Then Alice piped in, _"Now, Bella baby, don't listen to Angela. She hasn't done Ben in years. Does Edward have a single, older brother?"_

'I truly do need my head examined,' she muttered. Her friends were taking residence inside her mind, dispensing bits of advice whenever they wanted.

A wave of homesickness hit her in a way she hadn't experienced since her first week of summer camp all those years ago. Her mother might be reserved and exacting from years of caring for Bella's sickly father, but she loved and missed her.

She drew her arms around her stomach, trying to mask the hollowness. Where had Edward gone? How long before he returned.

What did he plan to do to her?

Nothing good, that much she suspected.

The air here was warmer than in the cave, but the cold refused to leave her, and she trembled. Her gaze flicked up the jagged walls, to the ceiling. Climbing up might earn her scratched and bloody palms, injuries she'd willing endure if the crystal ceiling opened wide enough for her to slip through and swim for safety.

She eased to her feet, her legs shaky. First she needed sustenance or she'd collapse-and then she'd never escape.

On top of the dresser was what looked to be a bowl of fruit and a flagon of wine. Drawing in a deep breath of sea-kissed air, she approached. Her mouth watered as she reached out and palmed an apple. Without giving herself time to contemplate the likelihood of poison, she quickly ate-more like inhaled, she though-the delicious fruit. Then another. And another. Between bites, she sipped the sweet red wine straight from the flagon.

By the time she stepped to the edge of the wall, she felt stronger, more in control. She gripped two small ledges and hoisted herself up, balancing her feet on the sharp ebony. Up, up she scaled. She'd once climbed the Devil's Thumb in Alaska-not her favorite memory since she'd frozen her butt off-but at least she knew how to climb properly. She dared a peek down, gulped, and thought lovingly of the harness she had used on Devil's Thumb.

She reached the top, and her palms were indeed bruised, raw, throbbing. Using all of her might, she pushed and clawed at the crystal. 'Come on," she said. 'Open for me. Please open for me." Hope curdled in her stomach as the damn thing remained firmly closed. Near tears, she maneuvered her way down to the lowest out-cropping and hopped to the floor.

She shoved her hair out of her face and took stock of her options. There weren't many since she was stuck in this room. She could passively accept whatever Edward had planned for her, or she could fight him.

No deliberation was required. "I'll fight," she said, resolved.

By whatever means necessary, she had to get home, had to find and warn her brother about the dangers of the mist-if it wasn't to late already. An image of Emmett popped into her mind. His dark brown hair artfully arranged around his pale face; his body lying motionless in a coffin.

She pressed her lips together, refusing to consider the possibility a moment longer. Emmett was alive and well. He was. How else would he have sent her his journal and the medallion? Stamps were not sold in the afterlife.

Her gaze scanned the room again, this time looking for a weapon. There were no knickknacks. No logs in the hearth. The only item that might work was the bowl holding the fruit, but she wasn't sure how much damage she could do to Edward's fat (okay, sexy) head with a surprisingly flexible bowl.

Disappointment swam through her. What the hell could she do to escape? Make a trip cord of the sheets? She blinked. Hey, that wasn't a bad idea. She raced over to the bed. When she lifted the silky linen, her palms ached sharply.

Despite then pain, she tied each end on either side of the sliding doors. Edward might look indomitable, but he was as vulnerable to mishap as everyone else. Even the myths of old spoke of every creature, be they human or god, as being fallible. Or in this case, fallable.

Though she lived in New York now, Bella had grown up in a little town in Washington state, a place know for its friendliness and politeness to strangers. She'd been taught to never purposely hurt another human being. Yet she couldn't stop a slow smile of anticipation as she studied the sheet.

Edward was about to take a tumble.

Literally.

Edward stalked into the dining hall. He paused only a moment when he realized he no longer saw colors, but once again saw merely black-and-white. He inhaled a disappointed breath. When he realized he smelled nothing, he stilled. Even his newly developed sense of smell had deserted him.

Until now, he hadn't realized just how much he missed those things.

This was Bella's doing, of course. In her presence his senses had come alive. Now that there was distance between them, he reverted back to his old ways. What kind of power did she wield that she could so control his perceptions? A muscle ticked in his jaw.

Thankfully his men had not waited for his return. They had already adjourned to the training arena as he'd ordered. Though they were several rooms over the sounds of their grunts and moans filled the air.

Lips drawn tight, Edward moved to the immense wall of windows at the back of the room. He gripped the ledge above his head and leaned forward. As high upon the cliffs as this palace sat, he was granted a spectacular view of the city below. The Inner city. Where creatures were able to relax and intermingle. Even Volturi, though he did not spy the masses his men had encountered.

Crowds of Amazons, centaurs, Cyclops, dragons, griffins, and female vampires ventured from shops and strolled the streets as merchants peddled their wares. Several female nymphs frolicked in a nearby waterfall. How happy they appeared, how carefree.

He craved that same peace for himself.

With a growl, he pushed himself from the ledge and paced to the edge of the table, where he gripped the end with so much force the fire resistant wood stone snapped. He had to get himself under control before he approached the woman-Bella-again. There were too many emotions churning inside him: desire, tenderness, fury.

He stabbed and pounded at the tenderness; he kicked and shoved at the desire. They proved most resilient hanging on to him with a viselike grip. The lushness of her beauty could charm the strongest of warriors from his vows.

By the gods, if he experienced these sensations simply from holding her wrists, from gazing into her vibrant eyes, what would he feel if he actually palmed her full, lush breasts? What would he feel if he actually parted he luscious thighs and sank the thickness of his erection inside her? His tormented moan became a roar and echoes from the crystal above. Were he ever to have that woman naked and under him-and he might perish from an overload of sensation.

He almost laughed. He, a bloodthirsty warrior who was thought to possess no heart and had felt nothing more than detached acceptance for three hundred years, was agonizing over one small woman. If only he hadn't smelled her sweetness, a stubble fragrance of female and sunshine. If only he hadn't caressed the silkiness of her skin.

If only he didn't want more.

What was it about her that made his senses come to life? He wondered again. If he knew the answer to that, he could easily resist her.

_Fight man, Fight against her enchantment. Where is your legendary discipline?_

With an almost brutal slash, he jerked a shirt from one of the wall hooks. He pulled the black material over his head covering both of the medallions he wore. The etchings at the bottom of the won Bella had worn flashed before his mind, and in a sudden burst of clarity he placed the stolen medallion with its owner. Javar, his former tutor.

Edward frowned. How had Javar lost such a precious treasure? Did Bella's brother wield some strange power that allowed him to slip through the mist, fight Javar and win the sacred chain? Surely not, for Javar would have come to him for aid-if he still lived, his mind added.

Edward had spoken to his former tutor by messenger only a month ago. All had seemed well. But he knew better than anyone that a life could change in the space of a single heartbeat.

"You have to do something, Edward," Jasper growled, flying into the room. He began striding closer. His sharp, lethal fangs were bared in an ominous scowl, a beacon of white against topaz eyes.

Edward gave his friend a hard stare, careful to withdraw all emotion from his features. By word or deed, he refused to let any of his men know just how precariously he clung to his control. They would ask questions, questions he did not want to answer. Questions he honestly had no answers for.

"I will not speak with you until you calm down," he said. He crossed his arms over the width of his chest and waited.

Jasper drew in a deep breath, than another. His fangs retracted. The cut on his cheek had already healed a courtesy of his regenerative blood. Edward fingered the scar on his own check. He'd acquired the injury from the nymph king years ago during battle and he'd never understood why he'd been left with such a mark.

"You have to claim to do something," Jasper repeated more calmly. He claimed the only other shirt on the hook and tugged it on. "We're ready to kill each other."

Edward had met Jasper not long after he'd moved into the palace. They'd both been young, barely more than hatchlings, and both their families had been slain during the human raid. From the beginning, he and Jasper had shared a bond. Jasper had always laughed and talked with him, made sure he was invited to participate in every dragon activity. While Edward had declined-even then he had kept to himself a strict mental distance from others0he'd found companionship with Jasper, found someone to listen to and trust.

"Blame your silly game," Edward said with a slight growl, he reminded of the previous antics,' not me."

The corners of Jaspers lips suddenly stretched to full capacity. "Emotions from you already? I'll take that to mean you want my head on a platter."

"Your head will do ... to start." Forcing himself to appear relaxed, he clasped a chair and eased down back-ward. He rested his forearms against the velvet-trimmed back. "What caused you to start transforming this time?"

"Boredom and monotony," came his friend's dry tone. "We tried to begin the first round of a tournament, but couldn't stop fighting long enough. We're on the verge of complete madness."

"You deserve to be driven mad after the chaos you caused earlier."

Jaspers smile renewed. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Edward. You should be thanking me not threatening me."

He scowled.

Brows arched, Jasper said, "Don't tell me I'm about to win the wager. Not when there is no one here to witness my victory.

His scowl intensified. "Other than the game, what can I do to help ease this boredom?"

"Will you redconsider bringing us women?"

"No," he quickly answered. Bella's lovely face glimmered in his mind, and his lower abdomen contracted tightly. There would be no more women in his palace. Not when such a tiny one as Bella caused this type of reaction in him.

Jasper did not seem to notice his disconcertment. "Then let us play out game. Let us try to make you laugh."

"Or rage?"

"Yes, even that. It is long past time someone broke through your barriers."

He shook his head. "I'm sorry, but my answer remains the same."

"Every year I watch you grow a little more distant. A little more cold. The game is more for your benefit than it is for ours.

With the fluidity inherent to all vampire, Edward shifted to his feet, causing the chair to glide forward. He did not need this now, not when he struggled so fiercely for control. One grin and he might crumble. One tear and he might fall. One scream and his deepest agonies might be unleashed. Oh, yes. He knew if ever the day came that he lost total control, he would be destroyed in a maelstrom of emotion.

"I am this way for a reason, Jasper. Were I open a door to my emotions, I would not be able to do my duty. Is that something you truly desire?"

Jasper tangled a hand roughly through his braids. "You are my friend. While I understand the importance of what you do, I also wish you to find contentment. And to do so, I also wish you find contentment. And to do so, something needs to change in your life."

"No," he said firmly. When Bella had stepped through that portal, his life had changed irrevocably-and not for the better. No, he needed no more change. "I happen to embrace monotony."

Realizing that argument held no sway, Jasper changed his tactics. "The men are different from you, then. _I_ am different. We need something to occupy our minds."

"My answer is still no."

"We need excitement and challenge," Jasper persisted. "We yearn to discover what the Volturi are up to, and yet we are forced to stay here and train."

"No."

"No, no, no. How I weary of the word."

"Yet you must make peace with it, for it is the only one I can offer you."

Jasper stepped to the table, causally running his finger over the surface. "I hate to threaten you, and you know I would not do so if I felt there were any other way," he added quickly. "But if you do not allow us something. Edward, chaos will reign supreme in your home. We will continue to fight at the least provocation. We will continue to disrupt the meals. We will continue-"

"You have made your point." Edward saw the truth to his friends words and sighed. If he did not relent in some way, he would know no peace. "Tell the men I will allow them to finish their wager, if they swear a blood oath to stay away from my chambers." His eyes narrow and locked on Jasper. "But mark my words. If one-just one man-approaches my private rooms without my express permission, he will spend the next month chained to the bastion."

Jasper's chin tilted to the side, and his golden gaze became piercing. Silence thickened around them as curiosity tightened his features. Edward had never barred anyone from his chambers before. His men had always been welcome to come to him with their troubles. That he withdrew that welcome now must seem odd.

He offered no explanation.

Wisely Jasper asked no questions. He nodded. "Agreed," he said, giving Edward a friendly slap on the shoulder. "I believe you will see a remarkable change in everyone."

Yes but would the change be for the better? "Before you reenter the training area," Edward said, "send a messenger to Javar's holding. I desire a meeting."

"Consider it done." With a happy swagger to his step, Jasper strode from the room as quickly as he had entered.

Alone once more, Edward allowed his gaze to focus on the staircase and climb upward toward his rooms. An insidious need to touch Bella's silky skin wove a tangled web through his body, just as potent as if she were sitting in his lap.

Jasper had spoken of the men going mad, but it was Edward himself who was in danger of madness. He pushed a hand through his hair. Leaving Bella had not helped him in any way; the image of her atop his bed glowed as real in his mind as if he were in front of her. He realized he was as calm as he would ever be where that woman was concerned. Which meant not calm at all. Best to deal with her now, before his cravings for her increased.

Stroking the two medallions he wore, he followed the path his gaze had taken until he stood poised at the doorway. She would give him the answers he wanted, he thought determinedly, and he would act as a Guardian. Not a man, not a beast. But a Guardian.

Resolved, he released the medallion and the doors opened.

There you have it Chapter 4…

Sorry if took so long everyone even though I promised.

Next chapter will be out tomorrow.

My internet went out and half of my chapter 5 got deleted to I have to re do it.

Thanks everyone for the reviews though..

Also I will be answering question for the chapter. Just post them in the reviews and ill post the answer her.


	6. Chapter 5

Roses are red,

Violets are blue.

I don't own Twilight nor Heart of a Dragon,

So please don't sue.

No hinges squeaked. In fact, not a single sound emerged. Yet one moment the bedroom doors were closed and the next, the two panels were sliding open.

Bella stood to the left, unseen and hidden by the shadows cast by the thick ivory. When Edward stepped past her, his feet tangled in the sheet-aka trip cord.

He propelled forward with a grunt.

The moment he hit the ground, Bella jumped onto his back, using it as a springboard, and raced into the hall. Her head whipped from side to side as she searched for the right direction. Neither appeared better than the other, so she ran. She didn't get far before strong male hands latched on to her forearms and jerked her to a halt. Suddenly she was heaved onto Edward's shoulder, too shocked to protest as she was carried back to his room. Once there, he slid her down his body. She stilled, feeling the buttery softness of his shirt and the cold of his skin past her clothes. Their bodies were so close she could even feel the ripple of his muscles.

Without releasing her, he somehow caused the doors to slam together, blocking her only exit. She spun, watching, her gaze widening. Breath froze in her lungs as failure loomed around her. No. _No!_ In a mere two seconds, he'd snatched away her best chance for freedom.

"You will not be leaving this place," he said without a hint of anger, only determination. And regret? "Why are you not in my bed woman?"

Overwhelmed by her failure, she whispered, "What do you plan to do to me?"

Silence.

"What do you plan to do with me?" she cried.

"I know what I _should _do," he said, his voice now a low growl that vibrated with anger, "but I do not yet know what I _will _do."

"I have friends," she said. "Family. They'll never rest until they find me. Hurting me will only earn you their wrath."

There was a concentrated hesitation, then "And what if I do not hurt you?" he asked so softly she barley heard him. "What if I only offer you pleasure?"

Had the callused surface of his palms not brushed her forearms, she might have been frightened by his words. Now she was oddly enthralled. Every fantasy she'd ever created rushed through her mind. Her cheeks fused with heat. _What if I only offer you pleasure? _She didn't answer him. Couldn't.

He answered for her. "No matter what I offer you, there is nothing you or anyone else can do about it." His voice hardened, losing its sensual edge. "You are in my home, in my personal chambers, and I will do whatever I want. No matter what you say."

With such a dire warning ringing in her ears, she snapped from whatever spell he'd woven and called upon her terrorist training from flight school. SING, she inwardly chanted. Solar-plexus, instep, nose, groin. Jolting into motion, she elbowed him in the solar plexus, slammed her foot into his instep, swung around and shoved her fist into his cold, unemotional face. Her knuckles collided with his check instead of his noise, and she cried out in pain.

He didn't flinch. He didn't even bother to grab her wrist to prevent her from doing it gain.

So she did.

She drew back her other arm and let it fly. On impact, she experienced a repeat of the first punch. Throbbing pain for her, smug amusement for him. No, not amusement, she realized. The green of his eyes was to cold and hollow to hold any type of emotion.

He arched a brow. "Fighting me will only cause _you_ hurt."

Her gaze slitted, incredulous, clashing with his. After everything she'd endured these past two days, Bella's temper and frustration erupted full force. "What about you?" She jerked her knew up, hard and fast, gaining a direct hit between his legs. Groin: the last section of her training.

A slight breath whooshed from his lips as he hunched over and squeezed his eyes shut.

She raced to the door, and began clawing at the seam. "Open, damn you," she railed at the exit. "Please. Just open."

"You do not look capable of such a deed," Edward said, his voice strained. "But I will not underestimate you again."

She never heard him move, but suddenly he was there, his arms braced next to her temples, his hot breath on her neck. She didn't try to fight him this time. What good would that do? He'd already proved he did not react (much) to physical pain.

"Please," she said. "Just let me go." Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. From fear, she assured herself, not from the sensual strength of his body so close to her own.

"I cannot."

"Yes, you can." She twisted, facing him, and shoved him backward. The impact, though slight, caused him to trip once more on the sheet. He took her down with him and when he hit, he rolled them over and pinned her.

Automatically she reached up to push them away from her. But her fingers caught in his shirt, causing the neckline to gape. Both of the medallions he wore sprang free and one of them plopped against her nose. She gasped. Which one belonged to Emmett? The one with the glowing fangs?"

What did it matter? She thought then. She'd come here with a medallion, and she was leaving with one.

Determination thudded like a drum inside her chest. To distract him, she screamed with all the power her lungs allowed. She flailed her legs and wrapped her sore hands around his neck, as if she meant to choke him. She hurriedly worked one of the clasps, and when she felt it unlatch, she jerked her hands down and shoved the chain into her pocket. She gave another ear-piercing scream to cover her satisfaction.

"Calm down," he said, his features pinched.

"Bite me." She screamed again.

When she quieted, he said, "I would be most upset if you damaged my ears."

Upset? He would be most upset. Not infuriated, not lost in a rage. Simply mildly upset. Somehow, with this man, that seemed all the more frightening than out-of-control fury. With a deep, shuddering breath, she relaxed into the floor. After all, she had what she wanted, and fighting him did nothing more than press their bodies together.

His brows winged up, and he blinked, broadcasting his shock at her easy compliance.

"That easily?" he asked, suspicious.

"I know when I'm beaten."

Edward used her stillness to his advantage and allowed more of his muscled weight to settle atop her. He braced her wrists above her head – something he obviously liked to do, since it was the third time he'd done it to her – causing her back to arch and her breasts to lift for his view.

"You wish for me to bite you?" he asked, dead serious.

Briefly she experienced confusion. Then she realized what he meant. Oh, my God. She had told him to bite her. Something dark and hot twisted in her stomach, something she had no business feeling for this man. An image of his straight white teeth sinking into her body and taking a little nibble filled her line of vision. Erotic and sexual; except …

If he were a vampire, she'd just given him an open invitation to make her his next meal.

"I didn't mean it literally," she managed to squeak out.

"It's just a figure of speech." With barley a pause, she added, "Please. Get off me." He smelled so good, so masculine, like the sun, the earth and the sea, and she was suckling in great gulps of that scent as if it were the key to her survival. He was beyond dangerous. "Please," she said again.

"Too much do I like where I am."

Those words echoed in her mind with such clarity her body offered a reply: I like where you are, too. She ran her teeth over he bottom lip. How did he do this? How did he make her feel strangely captivated and oddly entranced, yet fearful at the same time? He was quite possibly a blood-sucking vampire. He was also so sexy he made her mouth water. Made her ache in places she'd thought dead from disuse. Made her crave and fantasize and hunger.

_Get a hold of yourself, Bella. Only an idiot would lust after a man of questionable origins and even more questionable motives._

What did he want from her? She studied his face, but found no hint of his intentions. His features were completely blank. Her gaze orbed deeper, taking in the scar that slashed down his cheek, raised and puckered, interrupting the flow of his dark eyebrows. This close, she noticed the slant to his nose, as if it had been broken one too many times.

He was darkly seductive. Dangerous, her mind repeated.

_That's it,_ she realized reproachable. That's _why I'm so attracted to him. I'm a danger junkie._

"What did you do to your hands woman?" he suddenly demanded. His features were no longer blank, but projected a fierceness that was beyond intimidating.

"If I tell you," she said, faltering in the face of that severity, "will you let me go?"

His eyes narrowed, and he brought one of her palms to his mouth. Heated lips seared her flesh before the tip of his tongue flicked out, licking and laving the wounds. Electric currents raced through her arm, and she almost experienced an orgasm right then and there.

"Why are you doing that?" she asked on a breathless moan. Whatever the reason, his actions were utterly suggestive, endearingly sweet, and she gasped at the deliciousness of it. "Stop." But even as she spoke, she prayed he didn't heed her command. Her skin was growing increasingly warm, her nerve-endings increasingly sensitive. A drugging languor floated through her, and God help her, she wanted that tongue to delve further, to explore deeper territory.

"My saliva will heal you," he said, his voice still fierce. But it was a different kind of fierce. More strained, more heated, less angry. "What did you do to your hands?" he asked again.

"I climbed the walls."

He paused. "Why would you do such a thing?"

"I was trying to escape."

"Foolish," he muttered. One of his knees wedged between the juncture of her thighs. The ache in her belly intensified as their legs intertwined.

He exchanged one hand for the other, swirling his tongue along the peaks and hollows, making her aware of all sorts of erotic things. The way his eyes flickered from forest green to topaz. The way his soft, silky hair fell over his shoulders and tickled her skin.

If he planned to hurt or kill her, surely he wouldn't concern himself with her comfort like this. Surely he would not-

He sucked one of her fingers into his mouth. She moaned and gasped his name. He whorled his tongue around the base. This time, she moaned incoherently and arched up, meshing her nipples into his chest and creating a delicious friction.

"That is better," he said roughly.

Her eyelids fluttered open. His expression taut, he held her hands up for her view. Not a single blemish appeared on the healthy, pink skin.

"But-but-" Confusion overshadowed her pleasure. How was that possible? How was any of this possible? "I don't know what to say."

"Then say nothing."

He could have left her sore and bruised, a punishment for trying to escape, but he hadn't. She didn't understand this man. "Thank you," she said softly.

He nodded, the action stiff. "You are welcome.:

"Will you let me up now? She asked, dreading-anticipating?-his response.

"No." He placed her left palm at her side, but held firm to the right. His fingers continues to caress and trace every line, as if he couldn't stand to break contact. "What did your brother plan to do with the medallion.

Briefly she considered lying, anything to stop the flood of conflicting desires running rampant. Then, just as briefly, she considered not answering hi at all. She knew instinctively, however, that he would not tolerate either from her and that would merely prolong their contact. So she found herself saying, "We've been over this before, and I still don't know. Maybe he wanted to sell it on eBay. Maybe he wanted to keep it for himself, for his private collection."

Edward's brow furrowed. "I don't understand. Explain to me this eBay."

As she expounded on the concept of the online auction, he glowered furiously.

"Why would he do such a thing?" Edward asked, genuinely perplexed. " Selling such an item to a stranger is the epitome of foolishness."

"Where I'm from, people need money to survive. And one way to make money is to sell our possessions."

"We need money here, too, yet we would never barter our most prized possessions. Is your brother too lazy to work for his dinner?"

"I'll have you know he works very hard. And I didn't say he _was_ going to sell it. Only that he might. He's an auction addict."

Edward expelled a sigh and finally released her hand, bracing his palms on either side of her head. "If you mean to confuse me, you are doing a fine job. Why would your brother give you the medallion if he had any desire to sell it?"

"I don't know," she said. "Why do you care?"

In stalwart silence, he watched her, looked past her, then watched her again, his dark thoughts churning behind his eyes. Instead of answering her, he said, "You claim to know nothing, Bella, yet you found the mist. You traveled through. You must know something more, something you haven't told me."

"I know I didn't mean to enter your domain." The faintness of her voice drifted between them. "I know I don't want to be hurt. And I want to go home. I just want to go home."

When his features hardened dangerously, she replayed her words through her mind. What could she have possibly said to have such an ominous effect on him?

"Why?" he demanded, the single word lashing from him.

She crinkled her forehead and gazed up at him. "Now _you_ are confusing _me._"

"Is there a man waiting for you?"

"No." What did that have to do with anything? Unless … surly he wasn't jealous. The prospect amazed her. She was not the kind of woman to inspire any kind of strong emotion in a man. Not lighting-hot lust and certainly not jealously. "I miss my best friends Edward. My furniture. My dad made all of it before he died."

Edward relaxed. "You asked me why I care about the medallion. I do so for my home." He said. "I will do anything to protect it, just as you will do anything to return to yours."

"How can my owning the medallion hurt your home?" she asked. "I don't understand."

"Nor do you need to," he replied. 'Where is your brother now?"

Her eyes narrowed, and her chin raised in another show of defiance. "I wouldn't tell you even if I knew."

"I respect your loyalty, and even admire it, but it is to your benefit to tell me whether he traveled through the mist of not."

"I told you this before. I don't know."

"This is getting us nowhere," he said. "What does he look like."

Pure stubbornness melded the brown and gold of her eyes together, creating a churning pool of brown. Her lips pursed. Edward could tell she had no plans to answer him.

"This way I can know If I have already killed him," he prompted, though he wasn't sure he would recognize any of his victims if he ever saw them again. Killing was second nature to him, and he barely glanced at them anymore.

"Already-Killed him?" She uttered a strangled gasp. 'He's a little over six foot. Brown hair. Brown eyes."

Since Edward had not seen colors before Bella, the description she'd just given meant nothing. "Does he have any distinguishing marks?"

"I-I-" As she struggled to form her reply, a tremor raked her spine and vibrated into him. Hey eyes filled with tears. A lone droplet trickled onto her cheek.

His arm muscles constricted as he fought the need to wipe the moisture away. He watched it glide slowly and fall onto her collarbone. Her skin was pale, he noticed, too pale.

The woman was deathly afraid.

The clamor of his conscience-something he'd thought long expired-clanged inside his head. He'd threatened this woman, locked her inside a strange room, and fought her to the ground, yet she had retained her fierce spirit. The concept of her brother's death was breaking her as nothing else had been able.

There was a good chance, a very good chance, he _had_ killed her brother. How would she react then? Would those brown-eyes regard him with hatred? Would she vow to spill his blood in vengeance?

"Does he have any distinguishing marks?" Edward asked her again, almost fearing her reply.

"He wears these glasses on his head." Her lips and chin trembled. "Their cop glasses because he thinks they make him look "hard"."

"I know not what these glasses are. Explain."

"Tra-transparent, round o-orbs for the eyes." Her trembling had increased so much she had trouble forming her words.

He pushed out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. "A man wearing glasses has not entered the mist." He knew this because he would have found the glasses after the head rolled to the ground-and he hadn't. "Your brother is safe." He didn't mention there was a chance Emmett could have entered the other portal. Javar's portal.

Bella began to cry in great sobbing howls of relief. "I hadn't wanted to think of the possibility … and when you said … I was so afraid."

Perhaps he should have left her alone just then, but the relief radiating from her acted as an invisible shackle. He couldn't move, didn't want to move. He was jealous that she felt this strongly for another man, no matter that the man was her brother. More than the jealousy, however, he felt possessive. And more than the possessiveness, he felt the need to comfort. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and surround her with his strength, his scent. Wanted her branded by _him_.

How foolish, he thought darkly.

The love she possessed for her brother was the same he had felt for his sisters. He would have fought to the death to protect them. He would have … His lips curled in a snarl, and he banished that line of thought to a hidden corner of his mind.

Bella pressed her lips together but another sob burst free.

"Stop that, woman," he said more harshly than he'd intended. "I forbid you to cry."

She cried harder. Big fat tears rolled down her cheeks, stopping at her chin, and then splashing onto her neck. Red splotches branched from the corners of her eyes and spread to her temples.

Hours passed-surely these long, torturous moments could not be mere minutes-until she at last heeded his order and quieted. Shuddering with each breath, she closed her eyes. Her long, dark lashes cast shadowed spikes over the too-red bloom of her cheeks. He held his silence, allowing her this time to gather her composure. If she began crying again, he didn't know what he'd do.

"Is there … anything I can do to help you?" he asked, the words stilted. How long since he'd offered comfort to anyone? He couldn't recall, and wasn't even sure why he'd offered now.

Her eyelids fluttered open. There was no accusation in the watery depths of her gaze. No fear. Only pitying curiosity. "Have you been forced to hurt many people?" she asked. "To save your home, I mean?"  
At first, he didn't answer her. He liked that she wanted to believe the best in him, but his honor demanded he warn her, not lock he in delusions about a man he'd never been. Nor would ever be. "Save your pity, Bella. You fool yourself if you think I have ever been forced to do anything. I make my own choices and act of my own free will. Always."

"That doesn't answer my question," she persisted.

He shrugged.

"There are alternatives. You could talk to people, communicate."

She was trying to save him, he realized with no small amount of shock. She knew nothing about him, not his rationale, not his past, not even his beliefs, yet she was trying to save his soul. How … extraordinary.

Women either feared him or wanted him, daring to take a beast into their beds; they never offered him more than that. He'd never wanted more. With Bella, he found himself desirous of all she had to give. She called to the deepest needs inside him. Needs he hadn't even realized he possessed.

Admitting such profound desire, even to himself, was dangerous. Except, he suddenly didn't care. Everything but this moment, this woman, this need, seemed utterly insignificant. It didn't matter that she had passed through the mist. It didn't matter that he had an oath to fulfill.

It didn't matter.

He dropped his gaze to her lips. They were so exotic, so wonderfully inviting. His own ached for hers, a soft press or a tumultuous crush. He'd never kissed before, hadn't cared to try, but right now the need to consume-and to be consumed-by that heady meetings of lips proved stronger than any force he'd ever encountered.

He gave her one warning. Only one. "Stand up or I will kiss you," he told her roughly.

Her mouth dropped opened. "Get off me so I can stand!"

He rose, and she quickly followed. They stood there, two adversaries caught in a frozen moment. The withdrawal of her body from his hadn't lessened his need however. 'I'm going to kiss you," he said. He meant to prepare her, but the words emerged more of a warning.

"You said you wouldn't if I stood," she gasped.

"I changed my mind," he said.

"You can't. Absolutely not."

"Yes."

Her gaze darted from his mouth to his eyes, and she licked her lips just the way _he _wanted to lick them. When she dragged her gaze up again, he met her stare, holding her captive in the crackling green of his own. Her pupils dilated, black nearly overshadowing the brilliant brown hue.

He recaptured her in his arms and dragged her back down to the floor. "Will you give me your mouth?" he asked.

A sizzling pause.

I want this, Bella realized dazedly. I want him to kiss me. Whether the fire of his desire had simply burned into her, or the desire was all her own, she wanted to taste him.

Their gazes locked and she sucked in a breath. Such desire. Blistering. Had there ever been a man who had looked at her, Bella Swan, like this? With such longing in his eyes, as if she was a great treasure to be savored?

The outside world receded, and she only saw this sexy man. Knew only the need to give him something of herself-and take something of him. He was living, breathing sexual gratification, she mused, and more dangerous than a loaded gun, yet as gentle and tender as a bed of clouds. _I truly am a danger junkie,_ she thought, loving the contradictions of him. Was he a brute or a lamb-and which did she truly crave more?

"I shouldn't want to kiss you," she breathed.

"But you do."

"Yes."

"Yes," Edward repeated. Needing no more encouragement, he brushed his lips against hers once, twice. She immediately opened, and his tongue swept inside. She moaned. He moaned. Her arms glided up his chest and locked around his neck. He instinctively deepened the kiss, slipping and sliding and nipping at her mouth just the way he'd imagined. Just the way he wanted, uncaring if he were doing it right.

Their tongues thrust and withdrew, slowly at first, then growing in intensity, becoming as uncivilized as a midnight storm. Becoming wild. Becoming the kid of kiss he'd secretly dreamed of, the kind of kiss that caused the strongest of men to lose all sense of self-and be glad for the loss. Her legs relaxed around him beckoning him closer, and he fitted himself into her every hollow, hard where she was soft.

"Darius," she repeated. "Tastes good."

"Good," he whispered brokenly.

Caught in the same storm, she boldly rubbed herself against the hardness of his erection. Rubbed herself against all of him. Surprise mingles with arousal in her expression, as if she couldn't believe what she was doing but was helpless to stop. "This can't be real," she said. :I mean, you feel too good. So good."

"And you taste like-" Edward plunged his tongue deeper inside her mouth. Yes, he tasted her. Truly tasted her. She was sweet and tangy all at once, unfailingly warm. Flavored as delicately as aged wine. Had he ever sample anything so delicious? "Freesia," he said. "You taste like freesia."

He buried one hand in her hair, luxuriating in the softness. His other hand traveled down her shoulder, down the slope of her breast, her ribs and over her thigh. She quivered, tightening her legs around his waist. He brought his hand back up and did it all over again. She purred low in her throat.

He wondered what she looked like just then, and wanted to see her eyes as he took his time with her, as he pleasured her in a way he'd never done with another woman. The concept of watching her, seeing her take her pleasure, was as foreign as his desire to taste her, but the need was there. He tore himself away from her mouth, breaking the kiss-surely the most difficult task he'd ever performed-and lifted slightly.

His exhalations came shallow and fast, and as he gazed down at her, his jaw clenched. Her eyes were closed, her swollen lips parted. The fiery red of her tresses was an erotically tousled mass around her face. Her cheeks glowed a rosy-pink, and the freckles on her nose seemed darker, more exotic.

She wanted him as desperately as he wanted her. His shaft hardened dangerously with the knowledge. She probably felt the same hopeless fascination and undeniable tug that he did. A tug he didn't understand. His soul was too black, hers too light. They should despise each other. They should have desired distance.

He should have desired her death.

He didn't.

She slowly opened her eyes. The delicate tip of her tongue darted out and traced her lips, taking in the last hint of his possession while leaving a glistening trail of moisture. How soft and fragile she was. How utterly beautiful.

"I'm not ready for you to stop," she said with a seductive smile.

He didn't respond. Couldn't. His vocal cords suddenly seized as something constricted in his chest, something arctic and scorching at the same time. _I should not have kissed her_. He jerked up and onto his knees, straddling her hips.

How could he have allowed something like this to happen, knowing he had to destroy her?

_He_ was the one who deserved death.

"Edward?" she said questioningly.

Guilt perched heavily on his shoulders, but he fought past it. He always fought past it. He could not allow guilt in his life if he hoped to survive.

As he continued to watch her, her expression turned to confusion and she gingerly lifted to her elbows. Those long, brown curls cascaded down her shoulders in sensual disarray, touching her in all the places he yearned to touch. Her shirt gaped open over once creamy shoulder.

Silence thickened between them. Smiling bitterly, he wet the tips of two fingers and traced the lushness of her lips, letting the healing qualities of his saliva ease the puffiness and erase the evidence of his possession. She surprised him by sucking his fingers into her mouth just as he'd done to her earlier. Feeling the hot tip of her tongue caused his every muscle to bunch in expectation. He hissed in a breath and tugged his fingers away.

"Edward?" she said, her confusion growing.

He'd come here to question her, but the moment he'd seen her, touched her, _tasted _her, those questions had fled. Yes he'd soon forgotten his purpose.

He'd forgotten Javar. He'd forgotten Atlantis.

He would not forget again.

If only he could prove her duplicitous, he could kill her now without a qualm, then rip her image from his mind. As it was, he wasn't sure he could force himself to even chip one of her pink oval-shaped nails. The thought unnerved him, battered against him, and filled him with the urge to howl at the gods. Failure to act against her would mean breaking his vow and surrendering his honor. But hurting her would mean obliterating the last shreds of his humanity.

Gods, what was he going to do?

He felt shredded apart as he lunged to his feet. A cold sweat popped on to his brow, and it required all of his strength to spin and stalk to the door. There, he paused. "Do not attempt to escape again," he said, not glancing back at her. If he faced her, he might lose the strength required to leave her. "You will not like what happens if you do."

"Where are you going? When will you be back?"

"Remember what I said." The thick ivory opened for him, and he stepped into his bathing room. Then the door sealed automatically, not emitting a single noise as it blocked her dangerous beauty from his view.

Bella sat where she was, shaking with … hurt? He'd wanted her? If so, why had he left her reeling from the intensity of his kiss?

Why had he left her at all?

He'd walked blithely away, almost callously, as if they'd done nothing more than discuss their least favorite disease. She laughed humorlessly.

Had he merely toyed with her? While she panted and ached for him, while she bathed in the decadence, the wildness and the exquisite need, had he merely sought to control her? To gain the answers he seemed to think she possessed.

Perhaps it was best that he'd left, she thought furiously. He was a confessed assassin, but if he'd stayed, she would have stripped herself naked, stripped him naked, then made love to him right here on the floor.

For that one moment in his arms, she'd finally felt whole and she hadn't wanted the feeling to end.

This hunger he awakened inside her … it was too intense to be real, but too real to be denied.

Beneath his cold, untouchable mask, she'd thought she had seen a fire blazing inside him, a tender fire that licked sweetly rather than devoured needlessly. When he'd gazed down at her so carnally and said, "I want to kiss you," she'd been so sure the fire was there, simmering under the surface of her skin.

Her long repressed hormones cried out whenever he was near, assuring her that any intimate contact with him would be wild and wicked. The kind she'd fantasized about for years now. The kind she read about in romance novels, then lay in bed, wishing a man was beside her.

_Enough! You need to find a way out of here. Forget about Edward and his kisses._

Though her body protested something so sacrilegious, forgetting such an earth-shattering experience, Bella pushed the kiss to the back of her mind then dug the medallion from her pocket and anchored it around her neck, where it belonged. Ha_! Take that Edward._

She vaulted to her feet and spun in a circle, hoping that by searching the chamber this second time, she'd find a way out. A hidden latch, a sensor, _something._ When she saw only the same jagged walls, with no break in the pattern, she cursed under her breath. How did Edward enter and exit without so much as a word or touch.

Magic, most likely.

She blinked in surprise at the ease with which she entertained such a concept. Magic. Yesterday she would have committed anyone who claimed magic spells were real to a psych ward. Now, she knew better. She could speak a language she'd never learned.

Not possessing any magic of her own, she decided to ram into the door with her shoulder. She prayed she didn't break a bone as she girded herself for impact.

One breath, two. She rushed forward.

She never hit.

The door slid right open.

She nearly tripped over her own feet but managed to slow her momentum. When she stopped, she glared over at the door. If she didn't know better, she'd swear it was alive and purposefully tormenting her. There had been no reason for it to open this time. No reason except the medallion … Her eyes widened and she fingered the warm, ridged alloy at her neck. Of course. It had to be some sort of passkey, like a motion detector. That explained why Edward hadn't wanted her to have it.

_I can escape,_ she thought excitedly. She surveyed her new surroundings. She was in some type of bathing rom. There was a lavender chaise longue piled high with beaded satin pillows; a large glistening pool rested inside a stone ledge. Towering, twisted columns. Multiple layers of sheer fabric hung from the ceiling. A decorator's dream.

In each of the three corners was an archway leading off somewhere. Bella debated which direction to take. Sucking in a deep breath, she raced through the center route. Her legs ate up the distance as she pumped her arms. The walls consisted of one jewel stacked upon another. From ruby to sapphire, topaz to emerald, the gems were interspersed with web like gold filigree.

There were enough riches in this one little hallway to feed an entire country. Even the least avaricious of people would have trouble resisting such allure. That was exactly6 what Edward guarded against, she realized, the greed of modern day society. Exactly why he killed.

With all of this obvious wealth, she expected servants or guards, but she remained alone as she ran and ran. A light at the end of the hallway caught her eye-and no, she didn't miss the irony of that. Huffing from exertion, she headed straight into the light. She may not have an exciting life to get back to, but at least she had a life. She had Angela, Alice and Emmett. Here she had only fear.

_And Edward's kisses._

She scowled, not liking the heady thrill she received from the remembrance of his lips against hers, of his tongue invading her mouth oh, so sweetly. Of his body pressing into hers.

Lost yet again in the memory of such a soul-searing kiss, she didn't hear the frenzied male voices until it was too late. A table of weapons whizzed past before Bella spurted to a halt. Sand flicked around her ankles. Her mouth dropped open, as did the pit of her stomach.

Oh, my God.

She'd escaped Edward only to throw herself at six other warriors just like him.

There you have it Chapter 5 ..

And since this week isn't end of the term ..

I'm asking for some reviews again..

40-45 – Monday

46-55-Sunday

56-60- Saturday

61-70-Friday

71+ Wednesday


	7. Chapter 6

Bella stood at the edge of a huge arena of white stone and marble that resembled a restores Roman coliseum. Only the ceiling marred the illusion, boasting the same sea-covered crystal dome that comprised the rest of the … building? Castle?

Wide and long, the arena spanned the length of a football field. The air scented with sweat and dirt, courtesy of the six men brandishing swords and basically trying to annihilate each other. Their grunts and groans blended with the cringe-worthy clang of metal. They had yet to notice her.

Her heart thudded in her chest, and she whipped around, intent on running back down the corridor. When she spied yet _another_ warrior, this one just entering the far end, she scooted to the side, out of sight. Had he seen her? She didn't know; she only knew the nearest exit was blocked. _The nearest exit was blocked!_

"Calm down," she whispered. She'd wait two minutes. Surely the hallway would be clear by then; surely for such a short amount of time she could stay right here and remain unnoticed. Then she'd escape. Simple. Easy.

Please let it be simple and easy.

"Who taught you to fight, Kendrick?" one man snarled. He was the tallest man present, with broad shoulders and ropelike muscles. His pale hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, and the long length of it slapped his cheek as he shoved his opponent to the ground. "Your sister?"

The one called Kendrick jumped to his feet, sword raised in front of him. He wore the same black leather pants and black shirt as the others. He was obviously the youngest. "Perhaps it was your sister," he growled. "After I tumbled her, of course."

Bella's jaw dropped as his skin hardened momentarily on the man's face. When she blinked, they were gone.

The tall blonde sheathed his sword and held out his hands. He motioned for Kendrick to approach him. "If I actually had a sister, I would kill you where you stand. Since I do not, I'm merely going to bet you senseless."

A man stepped between the two combatants. He had blonde hair and surprisingly sad features. He was unarmed. "That's enough," he said. 'We are friends here. Not enemies."

"Shut up, Carlisle." A boy only slightly older than Kendrick jumped into the argument. He pointed the tip of his sword at the sad one's chest. Wet strands of brown hair clung to his temples and framed the fang tattoo that stretched up from his jaw line. "It's time you and all the other _lucifaeres_ learned you're not infallible."

Carlisle golden eyes narrowed. "Remove the weapon, little one, or I will gut you where you stand."

The "little one" face paled, and he did as commanded.

"Smart move,' another male said. This one had strawberry-blond hair and a breathtakingly beautiful face, which thoroughly contrasted with the fact he was polishing a two-pronged hatchet. Dry amusement gleamed in his golden eyes. "Carlisle has killed men for less. I guess it helps that he knows exactly where to cut them, where to make them bleed and suffer for days at a time before finally, mercifully dying."

At his words, cold sweat beaded on Bella's forehead. She managed another inch backward.

"He's only trying to scare you," one of the younger boys gritted out. "Don't listen to him."

"I hope you kill each other." The heated phrase came from a black-haired warrior who slammed his weapon into the ground. "Gods know I'm tired of listening to all of your whining."

"Whining?" someone said. "That's rich coming from you, James."

Kendrick chose that moment to launch himself at the large blonde. With a howl, the two men fell to the ground, fists flying. Every other man present paused a moment before throwing himself into the fray. Oddly enough, every one of them seemed to be smiling.

Bella cast a quick glance to the hall. Empty. Relief threatened to topple her. She kept her eyes on the combatants and moved another inch backward…then another…then another.

And backed herself right into the table of weapons.

In a sudden symphony of disharmony, the different metals clanged together and tottered to the floor.

Then…silence.

All six men stopped, whirled and faced her. In the space of a few seconds, their bloody and bruised expressions registered shock, then happiness, then wicked hunger. Her breath snagged in her throat. She scrambled behind the table, specks of dirt flying about her shoes. A thin piece of wood would not stop these men, she knew, but she garnered a little courage with a barrier between them. She tried to lift a blade but it was too heavy.

A solid wall suddenly crowded her from behind. A very much alive, solid wall.

"Like to play with a man's sword, do you?"

Strong male arms wound around her waist-and they weren't Edward's. This man's skin was darker, his hands not quite as thick. But more than that, he didn't cause the same wave of arousal that Edward stirred in her. This man's embrace caused only dear.

"Remove your hands this instant," she said calmly, mentally applauding herself. "Otherwise you'll regret it."

"Regret it, or keep loving it?"

"Who do you have their, Jasper?" one of the warriors asked.

"Give me a moment to find out," he captor answered. His rough voice drew closer to her ear, becoming a suggestive rumble. "What are you doing here, hmm?" he asked. "Women are not allowed in this palace, much less the training arena."

She gulped. "I-I-Edward is-"

He tensed against her. "Edward sent you?"

"Yes," she answered, praying such an admission would scare the man into freeing her. "Yes, he did."

A chuckle rumbled from his. "So he heeded my advice, after all. To keep us from teasing him, our leader sent us a whore. I never expected that. What's more, I never expected him to act so quickly."

Her mind only registered one portion of his speech. A whore? Whore? If they thought she saw paid to have sex with them, they'd most likely see any resistance on her part as a game. She shuddered.

"Excited already, little whore?" He chuckled again. "Me, too."

Applying the same technique she used on Edward, she jabbed her foot atop her captor's instep, then rammed her elbow into his stomach. He _umphed_ and loosened his hold. She twisted, jerked back her fist and let it fly. Her knuckled collided with his jaw. On impact, his chin snapped to the side, whipping his sandy colored braids across his cheek. He howled and released her.

Free now, she attempted to run. The other warriors had already encircled her, however, halting any progress. Her heart stopped beating. Their bloodlust seemed to have deserted them entirely-leaving only lust.

One of them pointed at Jasper. "I guess she doesn't like you, Jasper," He laughed.

"I'm willing to bet she'll like me."

"None of us like you, Madox. Why would she?"

"Why don't you send her over here to me? I know how to treat a woman."

"Yes, but do you know how to eat one?"

They erupted in laugher.

Eat her? Good God. They were cannibals. They wanted her to whore for them and then become their evening snack. Worse and worse. A tremor shook her, trekking down her spine, then spreading over the rest of her body. Death by human banquet. No, thank you.

Jasper, the one who had grabbed her, rubbed his jaw and smiled at her with genuine amusement."Did you bring any friends, little whore? I do not think I want to share you with others."

As he spoke, :the others" began tightening the circle around her. She felt like a slab of beef at a barbecue for the starving. Literally. All they needed to make the meal complete was a knife, a fork and an extra large bottle of easy-squeeze ketchup.

"I want her first," the warrior with the thickest shoulders said.

"You can't have her first. You owe me a favor, and I'm collecting. She's mine. You can have her when I'm done."

"Both of you can shut up," the most beautiful of the group said-the one who'd polished his hatchet. "I have a feeling the little whore will want me first. Women like this face of mine."

"No, I don't and no, you can't have me first," Bella announced. "No one can have me. I am not a whore!"

The man with the tattoo on his jaw grinned at her suggestively. "If you don't want to be our bedmate, you can be our meal."

She gasped, moving in circles to avoid their outstretched hands. _Threaten them, scare them_. "I taste sour," she rushed out. "I've been known to cause major heartburn."

Their grins widened.

"Acid reflux is serious. It can cause cancer of the esophagus. It can erode your stomach lining!"

Closer, closer they came.

"I belong to Edward!" she rushed out next, grasping at any frenzied thought her mind produced.

Each of them ground to a halt.

"What did you say?" Jasper asked, giving her a blistering frown.

She gulped. Perhaps claiming Edward as her lover hadn't been such a good idea. He could have a wife-why did she suddenly want to destroy something?-and these men could be said wife's brothers. "I, uh, said I belong to Edward?" The words flowed out as more of a question than a statement.

"That's impossible." Jasper's frown became a vehement scowl, and his gaze bore into her, inspecting, taking her measure for a different scale than he'd previously used. "Our king would not claim a woman such as you for his own."

King? A woman such as her? Did they think she was good enough to eat for dinner, good enough to whore for them, but not good enough to belong to their precious leader, Edward? Well, that offended her on every level.

She couldn't be any more irrational, she knew, and blamed her overwrought emotions. They'd run the gamut today, and were no longer hers to command. She'd always been emotional, but usually controlled her impulses.

"Is he married?" she demanded.

"No."

"Then yes," she said, not taking the time to analyze her relief, "he would welcome a woman such as me. In fact, he's expecting me back. I'd better be going. You know how upset he gets when someone's late." Insert Nervous laugh here.

Jasper didn't let her pass. He continued to study her with unnerving intensity. What was he searching for? And what did he see?

Suddenly he grinned, a grin that spread and lit his entire face. He was extremely handsome, but he wasn't Edward. "I believe she speaks the truth, men," he said. "Look at the love mark on her neck."

Quick as a snap, Bella brought her hand up to her neck. Her cheeks warmed. Had Edward given her a hickey? She struck first by shock, then by an unexpected, unwanted and ridiculous surge of pleasure. She'd never had a hickey before.

_What's wrong with me?_ Jolting into motion, Bella shoved her way past Jasper, past the others. They let her go without protest. She sprinted down the hallway, fully expecting them to follow. She heard no footsteps, and a quick glance behind her showed she was alone. When she reached the forck inside the bathing area, she trudged around the opening on the left. A salty breeze hit her in the face. She prayed she'd made the right decision this time.

She hadn't.

At the end, she found herself in a large dining hall. Edward was there, sitting at an enormous table, his eyes focused on the far wall of windows as if her were in deep thought. A heavy air of sadness enveloped him. He looked so lost and alone. Bella felt herself freezing, felt her muscles locking in place.

He must have sensed her, or smelled her, or _something_, because his gaze abruptly leveled on her, widening with puzzlement, then narrowing with ire. "Bella."

"Stay where you are," she said.

He growled low in his throat and sprang up, a panther ready to strike. And like a panted, he leapt over the table, coming straight toward her. She glanced around wildly. A side-table rested nest to her, decorated with a multitude of breakable items. She swiped them to the ground, causing vases and bowls to shatter and sprinkle glass in every direction. Perhaps that would slow him, perhaps not. Either way, she pivoted on her heel and bolted.

Arms pumping frantically, shoes thumping into the ebony, she snaked the corner and rushed through the final hallway. She didn't have to glance back to know Edward was closing in on her. His footsteps resonated in her ears. His fury blood intense, determined flames into her back.

At the end of the corridor, she spied a downward spiraling staircase. She quickened her speed. How close was she to victory? How close to failure?

"Get back here, Bella," he called.

Her only response was the shallowness of her breathing.

"I'll come after you. I'll not rest until I find you."

"I'm tired of your threats," she growled, throwing the words over her shoulder.

"No more threatening," he promised.

"Doesn't matter." Faster and faster, she pounded down the stairs.

"You don't understand."

At the bottom of the last step, she spied the opening to the cave. And there, just ahead, the mist swirled, calling to her, beckoning. _Home,_ her mind shouted. _Almost home._

"Bella!"

With one backward glance in his direction, she hurdled herself into the fog.

Instantly her world spun out of control, and she lost the solid anchor beneath her feet. Dizziness assaulted her, nausea churned arduously in her stomach. Round and round she plunged and spun, so jerkily, so erratically the vampire medallion tore from her neck. Screeching, she reached out and tried to scoop the chain into her hands.

"Nooo," she cried when it dance out of her reach. But in the next instant, she forgot all about the necklace. Stars winked in every direction, so bright and blinding she squeezed her eyelids closed. Bella flailed her arms and legs; she was more scared this time than before. What if she landed in a place more terrifying than the last? What is she didn't land at all, but remained in this enigmatic pit of nonexistence?

Loud screams resounded, piercing her ears, but one stood out from the others: a deep male voice that continually bellowed her name.


	8. Chapter 7

**Last time:**

Loud screams resounded, piercing her ears, but one stood out from the others: a deep male voice that continually bellowed her name

** Once she regained her sense of stability, Bella crawled through the cave. Warm, humid air brushed her skin, thawing her inside and out. Following flashes of light, she soon emerged from the rocky exit. Familiar sounds of the Amazon welcomed her: the screech of howler monkeys, the incessant drone of insects, the hurried rush of a river. Utterly relieved, she jackknifed to her feet. Her knees almost gave out, but she forced herself to move forward, to put distance between this world and the other.**

** As she ran, the backdrop of sounds tapered to quiet. Sunlight faded, leaving a horrendous darkness. Then, rain burst from the sky, pelting and soaking her. Under the weight of the water and darkness, she was forced to seek shelter beneath a nearby bush. _Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up. _**

** Finally the rain ended and she popped up, once again dashing through the forest. Gnarled tree limbs reached out, clawing at her face, slapping at her arms and legs, splashing remaining raindrops into her eyes. She wiped them away and kept moving, never breaking stride.**

** Shards of sunlight gradually returned, winking in and out between clouds and foliage, illuminating a treacherous path of trees, dirt and rocks. Twigs snapped beneath her boots. Every few steps she tossed a fearful glance over her shoulder. Looking, always looking, fearing the worst.**

** _I'll come after you, _Edward had said. _I'll not rest until I find you._**

** She shot another look over her shoulder...and slammed into a male chest. Bella flew backward, landing on her back with a thump. The man she hit was barely taller than she was and flew backward as well, remaining supine, gasping for breath. She came up swinging. She'd escaped a horde of warriors, and she wasn't going to be captured or assaulted now.**

** "Whoa, there," another man said, stepping over his fallen comrade and holding up his dirt-smudged, empty palms. Droplets of water sprinkled from his baseball cap. "Calm down. We won't hurt you."**

** English. He was speaking English. Like the man lying on the jungle floor, this one was of average height with brown hair, brown eyes and tanned skin. He was thin, not corded with muscles and he wore a beige canvas shirt. The Argonaut logo was stitched over the left breast, an ancient ship with two spears erected on either sides. The name Jason perched above the ship.**

** Jason of the Argonauts, she thought with a humorless, inward laugh.**

** Emmett worked for Argonauts. She rolled the name Jason through her mind, wondering if Emmett had ever spoken of him, but she found no reference. It didn't matter. He worked with her brother and that was good enough.**

** _The cavalry is here._**

** "Thank God," she breathed**

** "Get up, Mitch," Jason said to the fallen man. "The woman isn't hurt, and it doesn't speak well of you if you are." To her he offered a canteen of water. "Take a drink. Slowly."**

** She grabbed the canteen eagerly and gulped down all that her stomach could hold. The coolness. The sweetness. Nothing had ever tasted so good. Except for Edward, her mind whispered. Tasting him was an experience with no equal.**

** "Slow down," Jason said, reaching for the flask. "You'll make yourself sick."**

** She wanted to snarl and snap at him, but allowed him to reclaim his property. Water dribbled down her chin, and she wiped it away with the back of her hand. "Thank you," she panted. "Now let's get the hell out of here."**

** "Wait a minute," he said, closing the distance between them. He grasped her wrist and placed two fingers over her pulse. "First we need to know who you are and what you're doing here."**

** "Later. Let's get out of here." She hadn't seen Edward exit the mist, hadn't heard him, but she wasn't taking any chances. He could kill both of these men with a mere snap of his fingers.**

** Jason must have caught her desperation, because she watched with widening eyes as he withdrew a 9mm Glock. Emmett always carried a weapon when he went on expeditions, so the sight of it shouldn't have bothered her, but it did.**

** "Is there someone after you?" He didn't spare her a glance. He was too busy scanning the wooded area behind her.**

** "I don't know," she answered, gaze darting through the trees. What she wouldn't do for her own weapon right now. "I don't know."**

** "How can you not know?" he demanded. Then he softened his tone, and added, "If you _were_ being followed, how far back would your pursuer be?"**

** "Fifty feet, maybe." Her voice barely rose above whisper. "Is there anyone out there?"**

** "Not that I can see. Robert," he shouted, gaze boring into the trees.**

** "Yeah," came a distant, rough voice. She couldn't see the one who had uttered the response and figured he was hidden in the thick stumps and leaves.**

** "Robert is one of our guards," Jason explained to her. To Robert he called, "See anyone out there?"**

** "No, sir."**

** "You sure?"**

** "One hundred percent."  
After Jason put on the gun's safety, he anchored the weapon in the waist of his jeans. "No one's after you," he told Bella. "You can relax."**

** "But-"**

** "Even if there were someone out there, we've got scouts all around us and they'd never make it anywhere near you."**

** So Edward _hadn't_ followed her. Why hadn't Edward followed her? The question echoed through her mind, plaguing her, confusing her. "You're sure there's not a large, half-dressed man out there?" she asked. "With a sword?"**

** "A sword?" Dark intensity filled Jason's eyes, and he studied her. His body seemed to loom around her, bigger than she'd thought. "A man with a sword was chasing you?"**

** "I meant a spear," she lied, not sure why she did so.**

** Jason relaxed. "No one's out there but my men," he said confidently. "The tribes out here won't bother us."**

** This didn't make sense. Edward had been so intent on catching her. Why hadn't he followed her? She was torn between fear and-surely not-disappointment.**

** Her thoughts scattered as a wave of dizziness swept though her. She swayed and scrubbed a hand across her forehead.**

** "How long have you been out here?" Jason asked. He wrapped a parka around her shoulders. "You might have been bitten by a mosquito. You're shaky and flushed, and I'm willing to bet you've got a fever.**

** Malaria? He thought she had malaria? She laughed humorlessly, fighting the knot twisting her stomach. She was tired and weak, but she knew she didn't have malaria. Before flying into Brazil, she'd taken medication to prevent the disease.**

** "I'm not sick," she said.**

** "Then why- You're scared of us," he said. He grinned. "You don't have anything to fear from us. Like you, we're Americans. Hardly dangerous."**

** Another wave of dizziness overtook her. She clutched the parka closer to her chest, drawing on its warmth as she recovered her equilibrium. "You work for Argonauts, right?" she asked weakly.**

** "That's right," he said, losing his smile. "How did you know?"**

** "My brother works there, too. Emmett Swan. Is he here with you?"**

** "Emmett?" came another male voice. " Emmett Swan?"**

** Bella turned her attention to...what was his name? Mitch, she recalled. "Yes."**

** "You're Emmett's sister?" Mitch asked.**

** "That's right. Where is he?"**

** Mitch was older than Jason, with salt and pepper hair and slightly weathered features. Lines of tension branched from his eyes. "Why are you here?" he asked.**

** "Answer me first. Where's my brother?"**

** The two men exchanged a glance, and Mitch shifted uncomfortably on his feet. When she returned her attention to Jason, he arched one of his brows. He appeared calm and casual, but there was a speculative gleam in his eyes.**

** "Do you have any identification?" he asked.**

** She blinked at him and spread her arms wide. "Do I look like I have identification?"**

** His gaze roamed over her, lingering on her breasts and thighs, barely visible under the camouflage slicked. "No," he said. "You don't."**

** Unease stole though her. She was a lone woman, days away from civilization, in the company of men she didn't know. _They're Argonauts,_ she reminded herself. _They work with Emmett. You're fine._ Hands shaky, she pushed wet hair from her face. "Where's my brother?"**

** Mitch sighed and wiped a trickle of rain from his brow. "To be honest, we don't know. That's why we're here. We want to find him."**

** "Have _you_ seen him?" Jason asked.**

** Disappointed, worried, Bella rubbed her eyes. Clouds were beginning to fill her vision. "No. I haven't," she said. "I haven't heard from him in a while."**

** "Is that why you're here? Looking for him?"**

** She nodded, then pressed her fingertips to her temple. The simple action had caused a sharp, unabating ache. What was wrong with her? Even as she wondered, the pain in her temples knifed to her abdomen. She moaned. The next thing she knew, she was hunched over vomiting, every fiber of her being clenched in rebellion.**

** Jason and Mitch leapt away from her as if she were nuclear waste. When she at last finished, she wiped her palm and closed her eyes. Mitch skirted around her another canteen of water. He remained a safe distance away.**

** "Are you all right?" he asked.**

** Stomach still churning, she sipped. "No. Yes," she answered. "I don't know." Where the hell was her brother? "Were you part of Emmett's team?"**

** "No, but we do work with him. Unfortunately, like you, we haven't heard from him in a while. He simply stopped checking in." Jason paused. " Whats your name?"**

** "Bella. Did you just arrive in Brazil?"**

** "A couple days ago."**

** She hated her next question, but she _had_ to ask. "Do you suspect foul play?"**

** "Not yet," Mitch answered. He cleared his throat. "We found one of Emmett's men. He was dehydrated pretty badly, but said Emmett had left him to follow another lead. The man's at our boat now, hooked to an IV."**

** "Where did this other lead him? She asked.**

** "We don't know." His gaze skidded away from her. " Do you know what Emmett was looking for. His teammate babbled about, uh, Atlantis."**

** "Atlantis?" She feigned surprise. Yes, this man worked with Emmett. Judging by his words, however, he hadn't known Emmett's agenda. That meant her brother hadn't wanted him to know, and Bella wasn't going to be the one to tell him. Besides, how did she explain something so unbelievable? "I thought he was trying to prove the legend about the female warriors. You know, the Amazons."**

** He nodded, satisfied with that. "How long have you been out here?"**

** "Since Monday." Two miserable days that felt like an eternity.**

** "Last Monday?" Jason asked, rejoining the conversation. "You've survived out here-on your own-for seven days?"**

** "Seven days?" No, I've only been here for two."**

** "Today is Monday, June 12."**

** Holding back her gasp, Bella counted the days. She'd entered the jungle on the fifth. She'd spent two days wandering through the interior of the rain forest before traveling through the mist. Today should be the seventh. "You said today is the twelfth?" she asked him.**

** "That's right."**

** My God, she'd lost five days. How was that possible? What if-No. She immediately cut off the thought.**

** The possibility continued to flood her, however.**

** She pushed out a breath. If it weren't for those missing days, she wouldn't entertain the idea at all. But...what if everything she'd just endured was merely a figment of her imagination? Like a mirage in a desert? What were the chanced of there being a man who could teach her a new language with a magic spell? Or lick her wounds and heal her?**

** Or kiss her and make her want to weep from the beauty of it?"**

** Unconsciously she reached for the medallion at her neck. Her fingers met only skin and cotton, and she frowned. She'd lost it in the mist. Hadn't she? She just didn't know, because in all actuality she could have lost it anywhere in this godforsaken jungle.**

** Her confusion grew, the truth dancing just beyond her grasp. Later, she decided. She'd worry about sorting truth from fiction later. After she'd had a shower and eaten a good meal.**

** There was no way to explain her suspicious to these men without sounding totally and completely insane, so she didn't even try. "Yes, last Monday," she said weakly.**

** "And you've been alone the entire time?" Jason asked skeptically.**

** "No, I had a guide. He abandoned me."**

** That seemed to pacify him, and he relaxed his stance. "Did you see Emmett at all?" He patted her shoulder in a gesture meant to comfort her.**

** She pretended to stumble backwards a step, dislodging his hand. She didn't want to be patronized or coddled. She just wanted to find Emmett. When she'd first entered the Amazon, she hadn't worried about him, hadn't worried that he might be lost or hurt somewhere. Or worse. He was smart and resourceful, and in his journal he'd laughed about evading his "shadow," so she'd just assumed he was not in any real danger.**

** "I wish I had seen him," she said. "I'm concerned about him."**

** "Do you know anywhere he might have gone?" Mitch asked.**

** "No. Wouldn't his teammate know?"**

** "Not necessarily." Jason sighed, a pronounced sigh that revealed a hint of too-white teeth. "All right," he said. "I need to stay here and continue searching, but I'm going to have Patrick-that's another member of our crew-"**

** Patrick stepped from the shadows in a swath of camouflage, holding a semiautomatic. A startled jolt sped through her at the sight of the man and his gun. He ignored her upset and tipped his chin to her by way of introduction.**

** "He won't hurt you," Jason continued. "I'm going to have Patrick get you to our boat. It's loaded with medical supplies. I want you hooked to and IV ASAP."**

** "No," she said after a moment's thought. Emmett might still be in the jungle, alone and hungry. He might need her; he'd always been there for her, through the years of their father's cancer, and she wanted to be there for him. "I'll stay with you and help you look for him."**

** "I'm afraid that's impossible."**

** "Why?"**

** "If you're hurt, or worse, its my ass in a sling. Let Patrick take you to the boat," he cajoled. "It's docked on the river and not far from here, about an hour's hike."**

** "No. I'll go into town and-"**

** "You're two days from civilization. You'd never make it alone. And I'm not sending any of my men into town right now. I need them here."**

** "Then I'll stay here. I can help," she said stubbornly.**

** "To be honest, you'd be more of a hindrance. You're clearly near collapse, and we'd waste precious time having to carry you."**

** Though she didn't like it, she understood his logic. Without strength and energy, she would be a burden. Still, helplessness bombarded her because she desperately wanted to do something to aid her brother. Perhaps she'd question the man on the boat, the one who had spent time with him.**

** She gave Mitch and Jason a barely perceptible nod. "I'll got to the boat."**

** "Thank you," Jason said.**

** "We'll keep you apprised of our progress," Mitch added. "I promise."**

** "If you haven't found him in a day or two," she warned, "I'm coming back in here."**

** Jason lifted his shoulders in a casual shrug."I'll give you a piece of advice, Bella. Go home when you've regained your strength. Emmett may already be there, worried about you."**

** Her back straightened, and she leveled him with a frown. "What do you mean?"**

** "There's a good chance he's already flown out of Brazil. Not only did his teammate mention that he'd followed another lead, he also mentioned that Emmett bought a plane ticket three days ago."**

** "To where?" Confusion had her shaking her head. "And why are you still here?"**

** "We don't know and boss's orders," Mitch said, shifting on his feet. "This is the last place he was seen. We're to search until the office hears from him."**

** Home, she thought, Emmett could very well be home. The concept was so welcome after everything she'd been through that she latched on to it with a vengeance. She turned to Patrick. "I'm ready. Take me to the boat."**

**So yeah … I know it was mostly a filler chapter … And I haven't updated in ages... But I did stay up still 3am in the morning typing this up for you all ..**

**Also do you think Emmett's at home ? Yes or no? Why or why not?**


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